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The months, the years, the colors fade to gray And expedite the truth our minds betray. The changes feel so close, yet far away, In languid, ebbing scents of yesterday. The sum of all we are and hoped to be Would circle lines within a living tree. To cycle through the seasons' set decree, Then fall, obeying laws of gravity. We reach to scoop and grasp the sparkled sand And watch it slip so quickly from our hand. Each grain remains defiant to demand, Yet knows the spot precisely where it lands. A truth exists our thoughts cannot define. More stars will form than all the sand combined. Our lives were never sketches we designed, An unredacted touch by one divine. Gene Bourne. 04-26-14 Iambic Pentameter (Cataletic). Rhyme - AA-AA .

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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