Keepsakes
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If you are stamped by life—you will never fly.
Keep hold of your dreams – life may be bleak.
My mom looked up and said, "Who are you, hey?"
I said, "This is my wife and your grandkid's streak."
Her mind was bare after nine years of care and fear.
Where her memory is gone, loved yet torn by tears.
It ended, the harm was huge, and keepsakes now appear.
Celt's gold box with all my gems for kindred souls.
Entangled where angels stand proud on their poles.
Divine trust across the earth, and a shiny void rolls.
Only a dwarf hiatus till our next rendezvous sway.
Colors tumble in waves, the withering roses sleek
Approaching divine truths etched in dram sphere.
Put them away; keepsakes last, not grief or roles.
Written: March 11, 2023
( Not for the contest )
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2023
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