Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Sunday, June 13, 2004

Today The Metaphor Is Free

And I could spend hours each day
scanning these pages for the one
poem so delicious I could
devour it whole.

Where these words have a mind
of their own to wrap tight into,
enough to feel the pulse,
surrounding heat beyond the heat
of summer.

A page where just the breath of
speaking can toss clouds shifted
by a humid breeze, change images
like erosion of sea to sand
where I bury continual hurts,
watch as they are washed away
to make room for something brighter.

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