national poetry month

national poetry month
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Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Cropping Closer to my Soul

time's abyss opens and swallows me
chewing bones into splinters
smashing grey brains to grey mush
leaving me wondering
who am I, what do I want
and how do I begin again
all cherished activity

A dream of being
a fisherman plying the stream
refreshed by rushing rivers
over my toes and into my bones
catching the occasional trout

could it be that easy,
just hop in the truck and return at sundown
my biological clock screams no
don't go it alone
ticking off needs for company
with each passing moment

finding needs replaced by wants and greed
Time's abyssal maw crops
closer to my soul's cradle

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