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slip by the corners of my eye,
head turning to forestall
their disappearance,
dissolving in the mist
that wraps itself around
the life already lived;
the question, did I live
it well floats on the surface
of self doubt, always looking
back towards the clinging hands
of anguish instead of forwards
to the haze of yet to come
a golden glow of promise
in the sunlight of the future
not yet touched by rain
or tossed by careless winds
that break our fragile grip
on happiness, on joy,
on life itself; keep living
forwards, never back,
just grow into the flower
meant to grace the garden
of existence.