Sunday, January 2, 2011

1-2-2011

How weird it is to write that... Up waiting for the kids to drift off, but have been doing a lot of thinking.  This poem is the result for tonight anyway....



Straining, squinting, struggling
through the fog of my mind
puzzle pieces, fragments and dreams
Fact or fiction or combo pieces
whose truth do I find...
misshapen puzzles
close the door
a nudge, a crack it opens
wide again.
Twisted by time
or polished like a gem
Middle ground
picking through the pieces
sifting for silver
bits and pieces to carry on
Trash the rest
close the door, wedge it
brace it, make it stronger
Key to the lock
just waiting for a memory.
hn

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