Crusade

I sorted them by shape and size,
Even chose to alphabetize.
My process slow and systematic,
As I placed each item in the attic.

A gauzy film of dust amassed,
Over these memories of my past.

Mistakenly I let fall, my line of defense,
And the dust disappeared at my panicked expense.

I retreated at first, like the girl from before,
But the stinging of old was too sharp to ignore.

‘Guess the war ‘aint over’, I have to say,
And so I battle the demons of yesterday.