Of all the lasting impressions
life has left upon the mirror of my soul,
I only think of you with a shudder
and a scratch upon my rose colored glasses.
Life has left upon the mirror of my soul
images and memories, smiles and tears.
Small fingerprints, laughter and maybe a few fears.
In hindsight, more sun than rain.
I only think of you with a shudder,
the kind of ghost-on-grave walking
they used to attribute a shiver to,
in days of yore and superstition.
A scratch upon my rose colored glasses,
mostly easy to look through.
I shan't polish you away,
but remember you as imperfection.
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