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Moving (2018)

My life flows around me,
Swirling with men of shirts of green,
They carry my games, my books, my world.

In my second home, I watch as they file in,
One by one they explore the house I only just met.

Driving home, to my real home, I stare,
Empty walls fill the halls,
The beauty my family created past on,
The beauty my family created moved on.

I stumble against the wall,
Liquid fills my eyes,
Images of where my life used to be,
Oh, the four long years ago,
Imagining my body moving, time-lapse,
Seeing the furniture fill the halls,
I lose concentration,
The halls revert back to emptiness,
Only remnants of my old life.

Pockmarks in carpet,
Negative area from where my life was,
How ironic, how poetic,
The pockmarks, soon to come up with gentle waves of time,
The owner’s marks before have faded,
So will ours.

A sea fills my eyes again,
I try to hold it together,
My home for the last four years,
My home for the past four years.

Time doesn’t care,
Inch by inch I grow,
Time doesn’t care,
Moment by moment,
Time doesn’t care.

I stare into the dark floor,
So much like my heaving heart,
I try to channel my sadness into the lens,
I fail to think, shoddy glimpses of my previous life,

I fail to think, shoddy pictures of my previous life.

Even as I sit here,
In this room,
Writing these poems,
My mind grows heavy.

I am top-heavy.

I bow my head in subtle dissolution,
I bow my head in sudden hope.

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