deepundergroundpoetry.com
THE GRIP
Pieces of my childhood
Bits of my youth
Lined at my back.
Bits and pieces of my back
Like oysters on the sea shores of time.
I still feel the calling of the parts:
To pick up to string together,
What should not go just like that
Precious pieces of my heart
Scattered all over my memory.
Yet I feel something stronger ahead
Pulling at my mind
Like beckoning spirits
A vast pool of energy
Holding my eyes
The spotless ocean of light ahead
Has stiffened my neck.
I have not forgotten at all
The past and today.
How can I forget ever?
Those fears and excitement
Tugging at the heart when
our hungry minds
Were exploring the world at large
Searching out many million mysteries.
Yet I cannot go back at all
My neck just can’t crane backward again
It has grown stiff
With the longing for what lies ahead.
Bits of my youth
Lined at my back.
Bits and pieces of my back
Like oysters on the sea shores of time.
I still feel the calling of the parts:
To pick up to string together,
What should not go just like that
Precious pieces of my heart
Scattered all over my memory.
Yet I feel something stronger ahead
Pulling at my mind
Like beckoning spirits
A vast pool of energy
Holding my eyes
The spotless ocean of light ahead
Has stiffened my neck.
I have not forgotten at all
The past and today.
How can I forget ever?
Those fears and excitement
Tugging at the heart when
our hungry minds
Were exploring the world at large
Searching out many million mysteries.
Yet I cannot go back at all
My neck just can’t crane backward again
It has grown stiff
With the longing for what lies ahead.
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