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My past crunches underfoot
as debris laid asunder,
or it piles before me
a temporary blunder,
an obstacle I get round
by shutting eyelids tight,
relying on rose tinted sight,
and pushing closed the door
that leads back down the tunnel
to my painful memory store.
I smile with confidence and calm
not wanting to cause alarm
when on occasion, although locked fast
from underneath blows an icy blast
whipping round my new life
howling and threatening to stay
as I try hard to hold the ghosts at bay.
So if you see me shiver,
my body all aquiver,
have no concern for what you see
it's just my past catching up with me.
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Poetry: My painful past
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