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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #2221045
Written in my younger adult years
Windy Sunday

The wind blew so hard today.
The neighbor's tree broke off
And fell into my yard.
My trash cans lost their lids.
The windows rattled.
I felt like we would be
Swept away.
Perhaps that would be nice.
I could start over
Somewhere else
From scratch.

Rag Dolls

Workmanship primarily.
Honest labor.
Intricate detail.
Coordinated colors.
Perfect stitches.
Quality.
Grandmotherly love.

Body Space

I see a fat man.
A little shy.
A wall envelopes him,
Keeping people away,
Protecting him.
No one can love him easily.
He's lonely but safe.
I look at him and see
More than a body form.
His silence speaks volumes
Of pain and suffering.

Big Bob

My young friend.
We fought, but we've learned.
We earned our mutual respect.
There were no gifts.
It was never easy.
The differences in age, background, attitudes
Could not deter friendship.
I don't know that we well ever
Understand "friendship"
In quite the same way.
I do know the struggle was worthwhile.
It was not a friendship that lasts.
We may even shun each other
Sometime in the future
As our lives grow apart.
I will always remember this time
With fondness.

Rainy Evening

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The rain is soft and gentle.
Water drips slowly from gutter
To window sill.
Drop by drop,
Keeping steady rhythm,
Lulling me into
A dreamy trance.
My weary spirit takes refuge
In the quiet of the
Drip,
Drip,
Drip.
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