The pain of confusion,
The questions within your delusions,
And the unjust of your reality.
The pain in the illusion,
The emotion a baiting infusion,
Of a past been formality.
When the world excludes you,
And you let it.
When it bears down and makes you blue,
It is an odd comfort which, in pain, dose fit.
You drench the past in gasoline, the match lit,
And you know what to do.
Rip out those pages in your book and start a new story,
One not based on the memories of the past,
Write of new pains, and new glory,
And make the moments worth remembering, last.
Poet of the River
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-make-it-last-don-t-dwell-on-it-thought/
