Unraveling Luggage

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    Unraveling Luggage

    Over the years I've passed by this mirror
    Never stopping and just floating by like a river.
    It never seemed to bother me until yesterday
    When I then saw something stirring some mystery.
    I looked at it to see me standing
    Then I took another look and saw me stammering.
    I've never really took the time to look deep down inside me.
    But now it stung like a bee.
    All my sorrow had built up enough now
    It was leaking.
    Everything I thought I packed up was
    Unraveling and peeking.
    Nothing seems to stop it
    Not even duct tape and I'm going to bleed.
    I'm starting my bad habit again
    And now its going to begin.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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