Seventeen in the Past
I was once seventeen,
In sights that now cannot be seen.
It is in memories alone they dwell;
Each memory like a prison cell.
Sometimes I shine a light in one;
And the remembered one looks up at me--
Looks up, from deep in memory--
Looks up, like a flower turning toward the sun.
I look at it, and smile;
Then turn back to time, to walk my final mile.
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Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Wednesday, March 23, 2011 8:36 am PST
47 degrees F. Humidity: 44% Firecast: fair
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