We are haunted not
by who we are,
but by who we were;
when the self
and we resorbed it
into ourself.
They don't know
they aren't
the same as us.
They don't know
their day is done.

I try to tell them
but they don't listen.
They can't listen.
I am the only one
who can.
So they talk at me;
all of them,
stuck in their own
notion of themselves,
with no conception
that we have moved on.

narrative poem written on 05-27-2016 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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