Our truest life is when we are in our dreams awake. - Henry D. Thoreau

Saturday, January 9, 2010

splat

While rain trickles into
My broken home, I
Cannot recall the meaning
That had enveloped me before
Yet as it passes
It leaves a gentle,
Calming feeling
In my gut
And my mind is gone with the wind
Buried under the snow
Running from time as it chases
What is left
Though it has surely taken much
And claims it has just begun

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