by David S. Smith
July 30, 2005
In the archives of my mind,
I retrace the subtle strokes
Of once-lived passions in my life;
Like the sometimes-maybe lovers
Who have wound their lives with mine,
Adding to the cotton canvas
The warm hues of their sighs.
Like a prism brought to bare
On a spectrum made of time,
My thoughts reflect the shades
Of evening tears and broken lines.
Like a masterpiece of essence,
A kaleidoscope design,
My life is made of memories
That keep turning in my mind.
About the Author:
David is a damnyankee living in L.A. (lower Alabama).
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