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The Past Is Haunting



The past is a place
where we divide
and become our own tribes;
to stop the festering inside

We stumble
then tumble,
along roads that were railways
past shells that were stations

The old black and whites
that are now green and violets,
where elephants and cats live
but you’re not allowed to copy them

You can spend your summer
colouring in kittens,
while he colours the kitchen
in the same stickiness as his lungs

You couldn’t live here then
and you don’t live there now,
but it’s still always there;
haunting the very back of you.
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Submitted by annaresanop on May 13, 2021

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    "The Past Is Haunting" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/99887/the-past-is-haunting>.

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