#1718-History

Junkyards beckon.

Filled with relics,

Memories, and sorrow.

For stories that now,

Go untold.

Yet what matters,

Has been said.

There is little new.

Only different forms,

To camouflage the old.

It’s all there,

Plain to see,

Yet somehow,

Accepting reality,

And flowing naturally,

Is harder that it seems.