Poems

Blank Pages

The books sit on a lonely shelf as dust gathers round, on the outskirts of their pages.   Each page held, folded, underlined. Where lie years of study, adventure, discovery; and all is still the same. Ideas holding on a shelf as the winter falls. The snow gathers. All is but a memory.

O, the uselessness of words, when life remains the same; when hearts reborn unchanged!

 

being and words collide
sparks fall into the darkness –
life blossoms again

 
 

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