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Those last few moments when the air is Pacific Ocean blue. The evening eye-close of silhouettes black in the trees. The reaching of branches to the cloudless skies. The penitent down on bended knees. Those last few words said just before dying which become living heirlooms. Which comfort and bequeath all the eyes that are crying and foreshadow mortality in the arms we are lying. A snowflake which melts in the wind. Those last few drops of creativity in the fingertips of us all Evaporate swift as we reach for the ink, into the hollows dissolve. We feel it’s the end of an era tipped over and inside out ‘till we lift up our heads to the ocean-blue dusk And rekindle what’s left of our power. Those last few moments before we explode into myriads of thoughts and of sounds We dream of our novels and plays and our poets and creation, elation, abounds! A passionate wind stirred up in us, begins us, and settles our feet to the ground.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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