Gathering memories into many bouquets, presenting them to interior screens of remembrance.
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Brightly colored feathers ruminating themselves
Dancing into my being – bringing about a momentous,joyous occasion of unbelievable excitement on adull uneventful afternoon.
Lights reflecting off of interior window reflections, showing pathways to symmetry of nature.
Leaves spreading their fingers, waving towards heaven, hoping to one day enter it’s gates.
All alone and no one around, that is the reason I am here.
secret place to come back to sanity and be what I am to be.I need to be alone with myself to try and find out where I’m going.No one else needs to know why I do it – it satisfies myself alone.Whispering particles of my life need to sometimes be rearranged andput in jars –…
Running faster than my being, a mind of ingenuity and intellect,
Expressing and stretching them to sites of heaven and beyond.Signaling the beginnings of another century of writing with nopurpose until now.Venturing into the world, allowing others to receive impressionsthat I have written down through the years.Openly, honest and truthful, I expect nothing less in return.
Mapping treasured moments throughout life gives us thoughts to think about in later years when we are alone.
That is when our memories are most precious to us.Hoping for visits from our grown children and grandchildren, daily thinking of them throughout the hours, wondering what they’re doing.Remembering what life was like not so long ago, standing on the edge of crimson rose horizons as middle age continues towards senior living.
Irony of life is that of being lived daily without a single
What are the methods of routine? Why are we so involved inwork, play, vacations, suffering, sorrow, pain?Is there any one of us on earth who know with dead certaintywhy we continue doing what we do?Why we live? What is our purpose here? Has anyone found one?Or does doubt connect to everything we do?Reasons, answers? Reasonable…