The past wants a piece of flesh,
always waiting wondering when
to jump on a moment with fresh
ideas, exploiting our lives again.
Seems where we go always here
back to a familiar surrounding
when and if we understand fear
began in our heart this morning.
I walked while outside the weep
covered the sidewalks, a soft
repeat of a sound that would deep
remind us all of barbs we loft.
For it is a kinder world less naive
leaves our heart with soul to weave.
© Thom Amundsen 8/2021
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