School Haze.

Something of us will be lost.
It is impossible,
To heave everything along the way.
The accumulation is greater
Than the capacity, so we forget stuff.
It is not as though we have a choice.
We have to let go, so events can fall away. . .
There are certain exceptions to this,
Certain events and elements.
They are the burned in memories,
The significantly important life and times.
They are the instances or the unforgettable people
By which and whom encountered,
We are made able to go on, to survive,
One of such is you.
But you were long ago.
I have been schooled by life since,
Throughout these intervening years.
I have waved flags and hid my head,
I have made little of my history nor had success.
I live with a chain to the past,
And an anchor in my chest.
There is an outstretched hand,
An open hand, which I use to describe,
The faint outline of a fading space,
And the curriculum of fate.
Just like we used to,
Just as children do.

©2019 Christopher Thompson.
All rights reserved.
School Haze

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