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Drinking in bittersweet memories with aplomb, taking turns listening and looking at each one.
All of it having to be lived and experienced in individual personal ways.Expecting to be done and then being surprised with memories not really forgotten, just pushed down to live with their presence.
Flowing through mild waters out at sea, drowning in meanings that are taunting me ceaselessly, finding nothing to save me in days of saddened recollection.
Stretching it over my imagination, keeping me stable, and focused through it all.Bowing to life and it’s grief, thanking it for the gifts and talents God has given me to access human frailty and exposing it clearly, undisputably in writing poetry.Giving myself to it’s rhythm as I write of the intense depths it fills me…
Standing in a spot of intellect, hoping to become a famous poet for what it is I write daily, filling books to the nth degree.
Sorry to have let down my defenses, hoping to be cleared of all injustices, so I can move on into levels of peacefulness.Stranded instead, in a place of turmoil, wishing, looking for a way to remove myself from this insistent dread, piled upon me unrelentlessly.Slowly, edging farther away from life, going out with the tide.
Twanging music, playing itself
where it finds a place to belongin and be heard throughout theevening.
Mind wandering off-key with a singer who can’t keep a tune.
can write without hearing him.Just concentrating on the music as it’s rhythms are playedin unison.
Encasing every face into a mold of future endeavors, keeping all together for visions of future poems.
Just adding any matter of being to makeshift ideas, fulfilling them with a new perspective as the old and worn blend powerfully through every thought, keeping everything encompassed in treasured chests of imagination’s reality.Covering up nothing, exposing it only to particular prospects.