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Songs Of Old

And memories, they keep coming when that’s all you have
Or all you care about– so easily picked, harder to remember what led to them being your
Memories.

I can move mountains with my mind, but my eyes will only watch and my hands only dig; my lips will only move, my mouth will only dry. A peculiar situation when reality puts you in a place you’d been before but hoped was only a dream best kept sleeping.

I laugh out loud when I think of days, but blank my stare when hanging on to thoughts of nights and all their ramblings.

Just poked fun at myself
Tried to land a soft punch
But didn’t pull back at all
Meant to hold a thought
Forgot to let it go to begin with

And that’s where this story ends.

Seeing Work Not Finished
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