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Friday, August 13, 2010

Quiet Storm

Night is made of quiet, the day to darken.

I prop my heart open with a pin,

Set a trap, capture all that comes in.

A question always lingers,

Why can’t I hold what passes through my fingers?

I sit with the Self that lives within,

Sit with the persistent Why I Am.

A storm bursts flooding mind and skin,

Liquid light ever raining,

Oily thought, rainbow on pool draining.