Memories
are ghosts that haunt us;
some are friendly,
some are not.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Walls of frozen silence
imprison me,
Indifference and Hatred
watch the door,
while I,
chasing butterflies
and picking daisies
inside my mind--
am freeer than my
jailers.
This poem was published in a literary journal.
Written by R. F-M
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