Glasses scratched and yellowing, I look through.
I stare at tiny photos of something.
I don’t know that I will ever remember.
I’m not sure I want to, but it comes to me slowly now.
These doors don’t open often anymore.
What I thought were green pastures were killing fields.
In my dreams I sit in sands rising slowly.
Another breath, pressures on a heart left over.
Pooling fluid reflects these green clouds, waters gone dark.
My how things change, I don recognize myself anymore.

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