A Past: Poetry

A past that I cannot name,
Much less remember
Yet it calls to me across
Unconscious landscapes
Beyond shores I cannot see

If there is a mystery somewhere,
Then it is surely within
Here in this abyss of the heart
Where everything is Topsy-tumble
Alongside the irreverent shrug

"Who am I?"
is always the question
And the hallmark of the quest
Yet we continue marching in
Quicksand without quite
Knowing how we got here...

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