In past I dwell as I feel lost,
through lanes of memories I go
away from all that is the now.
With much, too much forgotten pain
my place is in the cellar of my mind.

I now am archivist who works
in underground and moldy rooms
where daylight never comes to me.
I place the files on rolling shelves.
Don’t try to find me, this is home a while.

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  1. Frederick E. Whitehead · April 26, 2012

    Her work is great


  2. Ina · April 26, 2012

    Hi David
    Thank you for rebloggiing my poem! 🙂


  3. Cynthia Ann Katon-Alfonso · April 26, 2012

    Thanks for reblogging this…it’s beautiful!


  4. lscotthoughts · April 26, 2012

    Very lovely, David, Ina’s poetry is wonderful; thanks for sharing!


  5. A amazing poem…it is beautiful!


  6. weisserwatercolours · April 26, 2012

    so few words, and so much given


  7. susanjanejones · April 26, 2012

    That’s so sad…


  8. Victoria C. Slotto · April 26, 2012

    You never disappoint, David. This is strong.


  9. Just A Smidgen · April 27, 2012

    Beautiful.. so very sad.. I think many of us have felt this way..


  10. bardessdmdenton · May 3, 2012

    So enjoy and admire Ina’s work. This is one of my favorites!


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