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The Old Room…#poem#poetry

The Old Room

I used to come here,
tis a place from the past,
the walls they store a shared memory.
Of laughter and tears,
of shedding ones fears,
and building a sense of comradely.

Supplies neatly stacked,
on shelving where stored,
groups paintings adorned all the walls.
But cluttered now is,
the stock all around,
with paint splatter marring the walls.

Where once did I sit,
could not now I fit,
the table it is overflowing.
As I looked around,
no sanctuary found,
I feel as though I’m in mourning.

A § M
5/8/2017

 

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