Baggage Class [sonnet]

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When frightened people run this broken world,
this broken world will not remove their fear;
for fear accumulates and, like a pearl,
in secret grows until it domineers.

When frightened people feign to be one’s friends,
that friendship will not take away their dread;
as phobic apprehension never ends
but yeastifies like sour unleavened bread.

However big your axe-to-grind becomes,
your shoulder-chip it will not hack away.
The fact remains that we cannot be chums
until you can embrace the present-day.

It’s not the baggage size which spoils the freight
but if what’s packed inside is out of date.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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