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He walks like he has some place to be,

hurried footsteps resounding through the empty hallways.

He keeps his head down, watches his feet, as if that will save him from stumbling.

He mumbles to himself, “I’ll get there,” but he has no place to go. 

He’s chasing dreams of himself, and his shadows are chasing him. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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