Facing
A while in the past looking forward to me
Became an idea, not a plan.
What happens as I write this poem,
Is yesterday, last year, or what made up this "now."
If I looked forward, I would be with my child,
Get out of the house safe, safe from disease.
But the future fell like a domino game,
I long for those Christmas lights with a capital H
Hope
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2020
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