In the Wings


Shrunk back into my shell,
life passes like wind over me,
a low sonorous sound,
like the mouth of an empty bottle,
the world echoes hollow.
A matter of waiting,
a matter of re-discovering myself
in the absence of changes,
a matter of integrity.
Something higher than this,
birthed in this,
a joy furrowed
in sadness.

I must remember
the seed, the heat, the essence.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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