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Monday, October 20, 2014

I have always loved Melanie.

I have always loved Melanie.

but she is old now

and her voice, her story

just a memory.

The key faded and worn, the candle cold.


Where are those days?

Where is the wind,

the breeze? 

Do Redwoods still tower over us somewhere and whisper

secrets of a simple past,

of some time passed?

How it just doesn't seem fair

feeling the chains now hanging heavy

an steal those quiet moments quilt-free

where we just were and there was little more 

on the other side of just that moment 

other than just another moment

Just a moment waiting to happen and be whatever it became.

We spy darkness in the distant

and it steals the moment

so we can do one more motion before it 

wraps us like a blanket

on a cold desert night.