THE ME THAT USED TO BE

And though the chance remains
  Memory fades to fantasy
    That seems too hard to face just now.

    Too soon I'd cut the chains
  In my efforts to be free
Too soon forsake my place behind the plow.

Sick, some say, obsessed
  I've seen the illness in your crowd:
      Each one considered blessed
      By your eye-blink caressed
To the facts of Life and Love unbowed.

To you they hand the reins
  In show of fealty
    Skipping truths that might provoke a row.

    In all I hear refrains
  Of the me that used to be
The me that acted so (and how).
© 2005 by Michael J. Farrand


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