The Uncertainty Of Memory

my childhood
yes
MY childhood

as i am fixed
here
the line is dead

oh for a diary
but no one had told me
and no one had said
then

and all those days
kept from the ink of a pen
an itch not scratched
only shuffled faces
in a box
but do the words match?
and do the lives stitch?

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poem by Tony Sweeting
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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