i hate this broken world, but
i love the earthy aroma of the soil broken open in the spring i love the reflection of the sun waltzing across the atlantic waves breaking against the shore i love the chorus of the birds breaking the silence of night with their hopeful song. i hate this broken life, but i love the comfort of familiar music that wraps its melodies around the lonely heart i love the constant flow of the stream from its secret source, washing over carrying away (carrying on) i love the safety of baby kisses and toddler love that carry no sword or dagger. a steamy mist rises off the water as a smoky veil descends upon the mountains, the magic and the mystery of both the seen and unseen likewise, i must learn to love the clouds in my eyes that defuse the light the reasons why the path beyond... and so too i must carry on.
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about the writer.“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw) past tense.
January 2019
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