Category: Poetry

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History I Have

The History I Have

Creeping around corners
What is that I see?
Two big eyes staring
Staring straight back at me

Somber stories are worn
Somber stories be told
Of a child much wiser
That never grows old

The stairsteps, creeking
My thief’s gloves are peeping
What is it I need?
The warm heart that’s beating

Their secrets be theirs
My secrets be mine
To be stolen, unwoven, retold
By trepidatious time