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Rated: E · Poetry · None · #2340071

An amnesiac man settles down to an idyllic life, but shadows disturb his tranquility.

The last day of December
I try to remember
In a fog lies the memory
Like a well-guarded armory

There are glimpses of violence
The rest is just silence
I was in a war
Blown up was my car

I don't know when
By whom is beyond my ken
I don't know where
It's all in the air

These questions I ponder
As of the town I get fonder
And a fear clutches my heart
As at midnights, I wake up with a start

Will my earlier life catch up with me?
Will a tragedy be sprung from the past I can't see?
Life is good, life is free
I flit from joy to joy like a bee

The town is where I was meant to be
Here I was brought on a Sunday at half past three
Consciousness I had faint
Still, I thought that the town was quaint

I was treated here
Here I outgrew my fear
It is just what the doctor ordered
With a different life I should have never bothered

And yet when in one of the coffeehouses I sit
Ruminating at the weirdness of all of it
I cannot but wonder
Who will come to tear my life asunder
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