Old Things, a Poem

How nobody can rid themselves of what’s already happened in their, lives!  Translated…

The Mixed-and-Matched Print Patterns of the Night

In the Mirrors, You’d Noted Your Backside

And What it Had, Weathered

Pretentious Mirror, with Millions of Spaces, and Times

Those Who were Amiss, Returned to Here

Tried to Patch Things Up, You and Your

Lines Were Off.  In the Staged Scenes

like these!

painting from online

Dancing Like Out-of-Line, Continued Moving Toward the Distances

Describing the Old Items

Farther Back, an Abandoned Building

You’d Longed for Solitude

There Was, a Tiny Chunk of Metal

Clung onto Your Skin

So, these are, the old things, that you want to be rid of, but somehow, they’d always, stuck on you, and you can’t figure out why!

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Filed under Life, Observations, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Poetry, Properties of Life, Things Left Behind

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