Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Dust



Take the longer road

to see the butterflies flutter
along the cobblestone and broken fences
the places where life used to dwell
and now me, the lonely stranger,
is the only voice on the land

then listen to the sun
as it is covered by the clouds
a light sizzle before the rain
falls down on the front porch
and washes all the dust from my brow

and I can still dream
but I don’t see faces
the same way
 as when I was young

like a slice of blueberry pie
at gramma’s house
a silver spoon and purple tongue
tasty
but I have never been  full

I love the way
The music is playing in my head
On the way to see him
A light piano
And words that caress

I see you standing
on the front porch
and the tips of your fingers

wipe all the dust from my brow 

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