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Life  is merely
a series
of before and afters
      begininngs and endings,
    
Sometimes we
are a fortune's king,
    weilding the key
to open
or close doors.

Other times,
our control is lost
and a line is drawn
    by the sword of a skillful hand
marking
         a change of heart
or opportunity.

Inevitably, death bows
to the governing power of Chronus
    holding time in his hands
  
But in between
the before and afters,
and the beginnings and endings
are moments.

   defining
turning
    quiet
stolen
of no return


Moments

The rhythmic newborn baby's cry,
    goodbyes that cast a shadow,
songs filled with Heaven's joy?
kisses that taste of forever,
      breezes that dance with the angels
   or quarrels armed with poison.
  
Moments

Some left with arms reaching
      for they were missed.
 a hesitant heart refusing love
words left unspoken
     time not taken
forgiveness held captive

Looking back
at memories held,
    moments have brought
light and darkness
but the missed moments
    have left the deepest scars
marking opportunity's lost.

So, I try to remember
  that in between
the before and afters,
   and the beginings and endings,
are moments,
    and I shall
adorn them in jewels
and embrace them in peace
lest them not be missed
for soon,
   they too shall pass.
In some strange way, I was inspired to write this by All the Worlds a Stage - Shakespeare. Its a work in progress... might need better organization. Helpful feedback welcomed. Please!
Actions
have
the
power
to
silence
even the loudest
words.
A new take on the old cliche about actions speaking louder than words.
She fed him her love,
serving his happiness first,
but he let her starve.
The sweet smell of
         smoke rising
            eyes glossing
              mood swinging
          focus weaving
       attendance falling
development arresting
   high school dropping
in our country's acquiring
teenage wasteland.
I'm sure I'm in the minority on this one, but I see it every day. One of the hardest parts of being a teacher.
The urge to disappear
down the rabbit hole
returned with a vengeance,
as the melancholy
song of failure
echoed in her mind
Reaching
for him
was useless,
for
his hands
were too
busy
grasping
at freedom
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