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Neglecting the Mother Lode

Again sudden tragedy reminds me of my mortality How fragile this shell that's made of clay Yet with fervent worship and adoration it's exulted And I feed its wants night and day upon demand Assuming the role of "boss" yet, in reality, a "slave" At times I ignore the sighs of a quiet inner spirit The missing link to advance to a higher plane Out of sync, I deal with insatiable desires to feel “good” And cater religiously to my burden; this speck of dust! While I neglect the mother lode of the gold mine within ~*~

Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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Date: 5/10/2011 5:17:00 AM
thankxx Annalise for your wonderful soup mail to which I have replied.. true friends are difficult to find but when u do u treasure them as I do u.luv.. appreciate the sentiments expressed .. u are blessed for this kind gesture luv.. hope all is well and u enjoyed a happy Mother's Day...
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Date: 3/19/2011 9:08:00 AM
How very insightfull Audrey, yes i can connect with this very free, (free verse) piece, great sentiments today!
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Date: 3/16/2011 3:37:00 AM
Very well written, Annalise! Enjoyed the read this Wednesday morning...All the best, Gert
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Date: 3/15/2011 7:24:00 AM
I enjoyed reading your poetry this morning Audrey. Have a wonderful week filled with good health, love, and lots of inspiration. Love, Carol
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Date: 3/14/2011 5:40:00 PM
wonderfully done..you are not alone..we all have the insatiable desire to "feel good". Good work. BG
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Date: 3/14/2011 1:18:00 PM
Excellent poem, especially the lines about the inner spirit being the "missing link" to a higher plane. Sometimes we get too wrapped up with worldly concerns. The spirit suffers. And, hey! It's a deal, you paint and I'll do laundry. I don't mind laundry one bit. My arms and back are sore from moving furniture to paint :( Love, Carolyn
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Date: 3/14/2011 1:16:00 PM
Lode, load, a nice play on words, very smart. I was wondering at it's use until your last line. I think this is a great poem, certainly something I would be immeasurably proud to have written. Although, the last line of the first stanza, it feels out of style, a down to earth line in a poem that is anything but thank you for the pleasure of your poem Anna :D
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things