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By and…Gone.

Apprehension breeding tension,
No suspension of contention,
Raise attention for subvention,
Yet condescension only shows,
Inside a frigid home,
With nowhere else to go.
Alone, alone, alone.
Between a leather seat and window,
Turning back, unlike the widow
Who chooses to forge on,
Letting bygones by and…gone.
To raise a hand and touch the glass,
Would show a blink of cowardice,
Only, then, a backwards glance,
Heartless and soulless.
A lesser heart is not the case,
Nor is the soul of sole,
For walking ever backwards,
Is not the way to go.
Take your car and grow
Into a new and better you,
Which has smartly rose to bloom.
Dust away the petals,
Chocolate wrappers in the bin,
Keep the aging parchment,
That outlines each and every sin.
Several of these scrolls,
Tumbled on a leather bag,
The odor of old paper,
And the life you use to have.
Yes, these shall stay,
Tucked away,
In a weathered satchel.
As a constant remembrance
Of life’s daily battle.
Untie the rope and place it well,
Inside this bag of gloom,
That could have been the last sin,
Ever done by you.
But, as I said, you grew.
Like an apple on a tree,
Or a berry from a bush,
You only needed, mercifully,
A very gentle push.
Proceed with caution,
The yellowed warning,
Guiding your new passage,
Although feeling pensive,
While carrying such baggage.
It’s savage how you managed
To scavenge this advantage,
No damage to your core,
To quote you: “Nevermore.”
Because the cord you threaded
Steadfastly and bull-headed,
As you took your final trip;
No, not the one of sin.
That reminder is deep within,
Buried deep amongst the rest,
Of ancient lives and memories,
Yet all these lives are yours,
From when you said “No more,”
And closed the car’s rear door.
Fare thee well, I bid you,
As this journey takes you on,
Still saddled with your memories,
The conclusion’s not foregone.
It remains to be seen, yet to be born,
It ends when you end,
It stops when you stop,
It exists in times that
You know not you forgot.
Yet onward you go,
On step at a time,
Although dragging your luggage,
Trust me,
You’re doing just fine.

doing just fine.jpg

If you liked this, check out these other great poems.

Poetry Classics: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, By Dylan Thomas

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The Return

 

 

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