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Burden Jar
There is a jar, it
bares no grand decoration,
it is not etched in finery,
but it is passed and fondled
more then any other.
Now and then a toke is
dropped in, to gather rust,
put aside, yet never quite
forgotten, never quite removed.
It holds the burden we
place upon ourselves,
especially when the hour
is late and we regret all we
have not, yet not rejoice
all we have.
You can see the jar
gray and red, what lays
inside is not pretty, but
for all the tarnish still bares
importance.
How hard it can be to
store the jar away in the
dark corners, and trust in
the fate to carry us through.
We measure ourselves
by these lead weights that
try to pull down our souls,
but still we must find a way
to look to the light and
let the jar keep our sorrows.
2:34 PM - 3/12/2006 -
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