Past

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Past is merely a slice of whole
Even if many memories are hidden
In every corners of deep inside
Judging the entirety by that sliver
Is imprudent.

Bottom of that chasm a part of
One sobs, wishing it were cocoon,
Reverse the wrong, metamorphose
And fly out into the bright future
Who would judge no-criminal by the
Little ghost in the past?
©

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