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You can't Escape the Past
When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find a glowing green gem; burning with possibilities.
But the shape of the past fits inside the palm of my hand,
Its sharp corners pressed hard and cold into my skin.
It's not until you are old and gray that you realize, with a jolt of white lightning cracking the sky, that the buzzing silence of your history has been wasted away.
If you jump into the present, you’ll land on the smells of the past and visions of what could have been.
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This is a form of poetry named Synesthesia.