Even though my dreams become complete.
A way of being treated like a vandal,
Leaving me alone and incomplete,
The fear of life becomes a fading channel.
The feeling like a puppet on replay,
Holding hands and watching me collect.
I know the fear of being hauled away,
Yet a part of you direct connect.
Only other people could uncover.
The thought of putting on a new replay,
Haunted by the moment you recover,
Being pushed around and hauled away.
About the risk of making me collect,
The only other others could uncover.
Relax and try a new direct connect,
Play a part and watch the world recover.
A thousand years have suffered terribly,
The loss of knowledge from a fatal error.
Like an old translation memory,
The fear of being blessed and lost forever.
Image from Pixabay Poem written by me