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Leaving Haunted houses make up this town. Boarded up windows And walls torn down, Nothing but wind in the street, And a sky so empty, The sun’s retreat Over those imprisoning hills Complete the void. Hearts full of winter, Tattered old gown Of an expressionless face. Arms full of nothing To take the place Of the abundance lost to such A graceless space. We must not look back, We must not lose track Of a destination We can not possibly know Until we have all gone clear. We must move forever forward, Toward, “Not Here”. ...For Mell |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Moira Grace Hamel-Smith On Date: 2009-06-14 00:32:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
I taught my 6 yr old the meaning of "destination" in the deep end of the pool today.
I learned the transition to what "We can not possibly know" floating on my back in same pool.
Not Here is best embraced while floating and looking up at what we'll leave behind.
What's with the symbols in the boxes.