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Remembering You

Remembering You

A ghostly flower blooming and withering,
(or blot) blinking with colors that strain to brightness,
to equal those of what were seen before;
fragments, with the music or plain utterances
attempting to be as loud (or as soft)
as what they really were...

But all in vain.

Blurred and ephemeral. Just for a haunting and fleeting...
Many times an unexpected visitor,
an intruder, inside...

What is complete and constant is that depressing spirit:

Void of form and details, yet lingering, encumbering,
dragging. Punctuated, highlighted,
by the thief that intermittently
gives, curses, and leaves

with a piece.

Clean in the Heart


   

 
 
I say blah to the old wisdom, “cleanliness is not next to godliness.” Whomever made up that maxim didn’t have children tearing through the house. Their faces are fudge frankensteins terrifying tabbies and tadpoles. Their room a cyclone in progress. Their clothes belong in a furnace. My young blessed sons are a bloody mess of Ketchup and Kool Aide. And I miss them so much while in school. Funny thing is it’s the only time they ever clean up. But I can live with clean hearts and dirty hands.

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