Into my eyes you look,
But you never see me,
For I am not here!
My past is controlling me.
My past with all its pain and hurt,
My past where happiness could not take apart.
Memories are trying to thrash me,
They are soaked into my blood,
Since my childhood.
Now, I am tangled;
Can not step forward, can not go back,
Can not move at all.
It must be the middle of the story,
Which already had begun.
My fear says stay hear,
But my hope shouts; run.
Each holds an end, and I still
Cannot release myself,
Of that current chain.
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Comments about this poem (The past by inas essa )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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