Spilled Art
No, you cannot turn back time,
although you may want to;
When a poet writes a new rhyme
words capture just how those days flew;
Maybe that’s the magic of love;
An assortment of building blocks,
there is nothing to dispose of;
The past plays through an old jukebox;
Revisiting moments dug up
fitting your life in a puzzle;
Spilled art from a very full cup,
sometimes hell but so beautiful.
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