Hobbo's Poems
A quirky look at life from a Yorkshire poet and his dog's perspective
I am not my past
I am not my past The litany of mistakes. A horror show of fakes, Too late on the brakes. But I am not my past. A houseful of lies, Paths trodden, unwise, Mistaken allies, But I am not my past Self-centred and vain, Judgemental, profane, A source of great pain, But I am not my past. Blind to your plight, Swift to incite But, now that I write, No, I am not my past.
😢. So much to regret. So much to deny. Are we our pasts? Can we cut ourselves free? A very interesting poem.
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I see it as more positive than that. The past is something that we cannot change, but we can become a better version of our past selves. 😊
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Ah. Embrace and redesign! You are a sculptor! 😊
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Dauphy is not only my muse, he is also my mentor! 😂
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Ha ha! Like a dog at a bone! Fabulous inspiration!
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😂
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the challenge confronting us all: that of reinvention, to not let our past define us; a brave, powerful poem !
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Thank you John, appreciated 🙂
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We’d all be empty vessels without our lifetime of lessons. I am a history of errors, and better for it.
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That’s the secret Misky, learn and move on.🙂
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👍🏻
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