Moments pass as flesh to spirit
with the grace of flickering memory
and I am humbled.
I die in the past and fold resurrection
in the palm of an aging hand.
No more mourning.
No more dreaming.
No more standing in rising wishes.
I am lonely yet not alone.
I have grown.
© 2007 Troy Allen Bull
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/12825/96498 on Saturday October 11th, 2008 05:49 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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