When I Awoke

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It’s the journey, not the destination they say. I agree. 

It’s not the punctuation, it’s the message on the page.

It’s not the words, it is the space between them.

It’s not the darkness of the night, it is the glow of the moon…

 

Liquid shadows dance on a midnight ceiling

Flirting with the wood grain of knotty pine

A pen is dancing to the soundless feeling

Twirling into starlit rhyme

 

The house is sleeping, I hear the dreams

Tip-toeing from room to room

They smell of summer, faded jeans

And the flower of youth in bloom

 

Smiling in silence, I remember a song

And I will sing it no longer in sorrow

The water is deep, and the road is long

There will be a new dawn tomorrow

 

Amid this thought, with lips still upturned

The Sandman silently sprinkles his grains

So the eyes that cried, and the hands that burned

Close with bliss, no longer pained

 

 

 

 

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