Back to Life

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  • Epic

    Back to Life

    Where were you
    All these long years now gone
    When I was burned and broken
    Dreaming of your solace
    While the days slipped by from my window
    Rising and falling waves of sand dunes
    Watching
    The casual observer I always have been
    And where were you
    Laying where I had tripped
    When i was hurt and i was helpless
    People passing me by as my life did the same
    Cuz the things you say
    Like the many notes in an orchestra ballad
    And the things you do
    More than God's handling of our fates
    Surround me
    As the falling autumn oak leaves
    While you were hanging yourself
    Entranced upon the magic
    On someone else's words
    Preached on destiny and faith
    Dying to believe to believe in what you heard
    For you were also searching to be found
    I was staring straight
    Through the space you were floating and-
    Into the shining sun

    Lost in thought
    As we disappear into labyrinthine minds
    And lost in time
    Living all moments in one instance
    While the seeds of life
    The bound energy potential of all our experiences
    And the seeds of change
    Re-examining all that had been absorbed thus far
    Were planted
    As these notions were realized
    Outside the rain
    To quench life's everlasting thirst
    Fell dark and slow
    Easing my mind yet fueling it to wander
    While I pondered on
    Discussing with myself these deductions
    This dangerous but irresistible past time
    Of delving ever deep into thoughts
    I took a heavenly ride
    Coasting ribbons of swirling zephyr
    Through our silence
    And after ruminating on our existence
    I knew the moment had arrived
    To come up and out of this mental shell and-
    For killing the past
    Of prevailing long dwelling denizens of sanity
    And coming back to life

    I lifted my unclouded eyes
    And headed straight into the
    Shining Sun

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    JClaire’s Poems (6)

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