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Breath

The last whispery remains of a dream fray into forgetfulness. I get up and go downstairs to quietly sit in a chair beside the window and stare into the outside dark. A few stars hang suspended in the silhouette of a tree. Six o'clock. The morning seems to have been waiting for me to bring breath to its silence and movement to its still. It is like a child eager to show off its tricks - birds bursting out of bushy hiding places, a backyard revealed from beneath a cloak of nightlong dark and me from my own.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Date: 5/24/2025 10:35:00 PM
Great imagery to imagine stars hung like lights in trees, Paul. I always find myself waiting for morning and wish I could sleep until 6.
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Lane Avatar
Lin Lane
Date: 5/25/2025 2:21:00 AM
Pre Dawn would be mor hours of creative writing for me if I were able to sleep more than 2 or 3 at a time. You dregs are better than poems by many who call themselves poets.
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Paul Willason
Date: 5/25/2025 1:57:00 AM
Thanks Lin...good to get confirmation I can still put together a decent image from this old brain. The 6am was a "sleep in" for me...I like the early morning as most of my poems find voice at this time...still infused with the dregs of dream and still disconnected from the full weight of the so calledvreal world. Do hope you get enough sleep to feed that creative mind of yours. Cheers..
Date: 5/24/2025 4:17:00 PM
Another Paul beauty....l wish l could explain and write as you do....just lovely! Debx
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Paul Willason
Date: 5/25/2025 1:49:00 AM
So kind Deb....you do great job in capturing your own world in your poetry...we all have a way of telling our own story. Sincerely value your support my friend.

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