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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Other >> ID #1463191 |
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Once when six
I was told to color a picture of a circle. I colored everything outside of the circle. I got no gold star that day. Didn't the teacher understand that the circle was empty? Today is mother to tomorrow and my yesterdays are peopled with pregnant memories and visions of times yet to come. Cycles of seasons roll by spinning ever faster as I age-- blurring the sharpened edges of pain. Sands falling smooth over the worst of the roughened times. Tomorrows are the children of today and today is replete with echoed shadows layered upon misted visions floating just beyond my ken The circle is almost full and the crayons are broken and rounded: too little left to sharpen. Life spills over the brim cascading drops creating new circles. I was never one to color inside the lines.
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