The oceans gray, reflective past.
Losing first, trailing last.
The summers eve, nights well spent.
Her floral dress, lavender scent.
Inside, timid child, a grown man's plight.
These memories flow, so easy with thought.
Our lovers- broken embrace, the friends we've fought.
So now I dine alone, with sadness heavy.
Reminiscent songs, my suicide ready.
With a single bullet, my name now wrote...
'Live with a purpose.'
My dying quote.
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Comments about this poem (Looking Back by Anthony James )
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