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Thursday, September 22, 2011


I was going through some old papers and I found this poem that I wrote 23 years ago. I changed it a bit although it reflects the woman that I was at 24 as well as the woman I am today.

I THINK that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.
Joyce Kilmer

Red Red Red

our calloused hands weep.
Painfully, we wait for
time to erase the night
that we just endured.
We walk through
the dimly lit woods.

The dark envelopes us and
nature continues to plead
with her shadowed humor.
Internally, my ego convinces
me to walk until my heart
and turns to leave
with the hazy moon.
One pair of human
hands continue
to turn counter clockwise.

Looking up to the kaleidoscope
of lost tree tops,
so much depends upon
the black shards of leaves.
I am a single one standing still,
so small as
our sapling love
fills my own heart with
a vivid dismay.

It is the small seeds of
love and hate.

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