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April 14, 2016
Oh frown that came
and crumpled skin so fair,
when asked to expand on that which
caused an anxious glare.
Such agony that touched
ones very being,
as tears welled up,
distress, what we were seeing.
Oh time – the Boss
of one’s past misdemeanours.
Now dirty washing
taken to the cleaners.
Oh past, no tide
can ever hope to change.
Someone, somewhere will know
the truth, however strange.
Oh guilt, so heavy
on one’s shoulders still.
That never can be remedied
by any kind of pill.
Yet memory, so exacting,
in fine detail, chooses to recall,
that of which now matters,
really, not at all!
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