Bio by Self XXII

Her ways that wet the wind
in cloud drips close to clandestine
raindrops hidden in the grays of ghosts
where broken-hearted lovers
played hollow games of what if
or, worse what if NOT?

I high dressed the proud sun
in a plethora of gold
my lens produced its promise
of providence in the dust of dreams
that others left discarded.

When the gulls cawed
then the sea SAW
what it could never say. 
The waves sang
their ancient song
of no surrender 
again, again, again
eternally forgiving
there are things we
walk away from
that may never end.





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