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I wear this second skin
writing secretly
in the jaws of night.

Reticent thoughts
shyly accumulate in ink
unravel and take flight.

Though to others
they may be worthless
void of craft and lack insight.

Each one is a delicate
Part of me
I have the right to write.
each night they come
tapping on the wall
voices in the hall
laying their hands on my shoulder

is it touching life that they need
will they follow me til' death
will they covet my last breath
growing weak as I grow older

what awaits my simple soul
will they welcome me with tears
will I wander lost for years
in a realm where hearts are colder

what light you let me see
I know you'll wait for me
I set my spirit free
to the whispers in the dark
re-post
the air hit my face like a slap to a helpless child
cold and unrelenting
like every morning as I leave before the Sun is up
I wanted to say something before starting the long drive
I turned but could think of nothing
perhaps there was nothing to say
perhaps it no longer mattered

eighteen inches fell last night
a Winter Wonderland here in the mountains
I may see the children before they sleep tonight
or I may miss them as I often do
traffic and that silent road have numbed me

snow has begun falling again
thick and oddly quiet
like the ravings of a mad man on tv
with the volume turned down
funny how wonderfully creative the mind becomes
moments before sanity escapes

just as I had nothing to say
when I began this typical Tuesday
I again have no rhyme
no verse
no connection to reality
as I flatten the pedal
and disappear into the white
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