London Poem: Day 133

28 December

What we forget of lives
Pushed away tends to
Sweep in when least expected.
Never shining in soft light,
What’s ignored erupts suddenly
To tell us how to feel.
For me this is home,
And a return feels unnatural,
But with you everything is
New and without compare.
The whole life still unseen,
As this is merely the beginning.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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