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of myself in this poem. I too, have unsigned pieces of work, that lie unfinished, moldering, because I am overcome by the emotion of putting them on paper. [Well, not paper, but I think you get the idea]. Sometimes, even after finishing them, I leave them in an unsigned slot in the memory-banks of my computer and external memory. They define portions of me that I do not wish to acknowledge to the outside world. You have touched upon something that I think the rest of the world doesn't wish to admit, but some are at least brave enough to write down. I am impressed with the telling of this story. The past is a terrible partner, always willing to threaten you with revealing your innermost secrets, the feet of clay that threaten to bring down the whole statue. I like this one a lot; no need to tell the story, the threat is enough. Excellently done! I don't see anything I would change. ~ Geezer.
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