A CLOSED MIND
Mechanically futile are efforts to rid the mind of clutter
We have done too much to be forgotten
Like leaves when they lose their blood
We are shells without thought.
We are an open field
Each blade of grass a memory
Each rock a signpost
In our lives…
That rise and fall
As Spring turns to Summer
As Fall turns to Winter
As night turns to day
Without the aid of a
map and compass
to point us in the direction
they believe we should go.
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© Doghaus
20 November 2017
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Honestly,
Doghaus