a poem about the unfinished things

I have boots I don’t use; and coats I don’t wear; food I don’t eat and pain I don’t share;

I have wounds that won’t heal; thoughts that gather dust; Ideas and ambitions moth eaten by rust.

coffee that gets cold; words which disappear; friendships that don’t last, and all manners of fear.

some lacy dreams and broken wings; treasures amidst forgotten things.

unusable , unfinished and taking up space; silent and ancient; lacking beauty and taste,

they’re seemingly empty; root bound with no source; but I’ve  found in the end

they’re part of the life’s course.

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