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Thursday, September 12, 2013


Here, in a place
That is only quiet on the surface;
There is a faucet that runs
As constant as the night
at the closing of the year.

I wash my tired face
I soak and scrub the few faded decades
off of this map on my hands.
I inhale the pulsating fragrance
of my freshly varnished hopes and plans.

I am unsure if I am an extension
of this giant spinning world,
or if it is a dizzy part of me.

Whatever the connection may be;
It stirs question upon question
That entertains the hopelessness
And transforms it
into something butterfly-like.

Contemplation of what I am
and what I should be doing here
Overflows and dampens
 the sympathetic air

I’m never a step closer to knowing
But all the stars my eyes have met
Are there, bright in the sky, still showing;
and something about that sight
urges this wanderer to keep going.


  1. This is beautiful. I like the self appreciation here, the acceptance and the hope. Very nice.

  2. I love this. It captures the way I feel, full of hope yet questioning my existence.


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