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Chill and warmth

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Forlorn

A clump of leftover rags, Abandoned and alone Used and discarded, Left on its own. Once they were valued, Almost beyond compare Beautiful and pristine, Shiny against her hair But now they are faded With time and despair No more will gazes linger, Now that she doesn’t care Their purpose yet lingers Useful, perhaps, to…
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Unexpectedly stormy

It’s the little things. The quiet things. The things one can pass by, and never see. Until the time the quiet things become loud, Roaring for attention. They were so simple, so peaceful until neglected. Suddenly what was so quiet and calm has turned into a funnel of destruction, and one can only hold on.…
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Baggage

Swirls and eddies Lead to strange horizons, Conversation flows within One thought leads to another, spiraling into another realm Complete, Unique. Within my own mind, I can go for hours Sorting through the boxes Packed away for another day Some, left closed, Pushed away to a corner. To be dealt with at another time, Maybe.
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December 30th

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December 25th

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Communal space

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Purpose

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Night on golden pond


