Friday, March 20, 2009


Flat. Like the coastal plain reaching forth into the shallows of the sea

Though the present place of being thrusts upward to the sky

Here am I, mired in the valley of mud

Winged of spirit, wanting to embrace the sky

My tail, once vestigial, now growing into the silt below


Dreams can place us in front of our deepest fears

And we live there in slow motion, unable to run

In the end we wake, to realize the thought not real

But how is it now, that I am awake?

Still not able to run

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