London Poem: Day 128

23 December

Far removed as other lives draw in;
The sounds of familiar hands
Trickle out and ask to be included.
Choice, it becomes the breach,
But what is cut is repaired
Further down the line.
That’s what home is for:
To learn what was, never is again.
Paths in flux mimic motion,
But fall short when
Held end to end.
That isn’t what I remember,
But I have something to
Look at and recall.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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