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I hope heaven is real,
because I know you'll be happy
for the first time.
If there is a paradise,
I hope you're there.
 Dec 2014 Jack R Fehlmann
r
19
 Dec 2014 Jack R Fehlmann
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
 Dec 2014 Jack R Fehlmann
bones
Yes I remember
that night
in midwinter,
the one
that we burned
on the hill,
and the moon
and the stars
and the
somersault sparks
and wanting
it all
to stay still,
and yes I remember
the warmth
of the embers
and daring
the future
with hope
at the
very same time
your fingers
touched mine
as softly as if
they were smoke.
The Beloved
enters like a mist
When in stillness
Softens a kiss

Disarms my words
eludes my eyes
No empty pages
the ink run dry

Hours gaze
from a clock with no face
free from the hands
of time and space

Pulsing chamber of light
that of a lantern
of a wayfaring messenger
She says
*"I am not writer, I am written"
Tangled up
in broken lines of
communication,
seeking out a
melody
that was never there.

Discordant sounds,
blocking them out like a
dam of
sticks and stones.

But your words, your
honest
unchosen
words
will never
break my bones.

For they are frail,
crumbling away when I
catch them in my
fingers
if even there at all.

Hanging for a moment
in the flushing heat
between us
before
dropping
like orbs of clouded glass
and shattering at my
feet.

Worthless now.
Fragments.

All the cuts on my
fingers
from trying to
pick up the pieces,
put them together,
nurse them
tenderly.
Seeking some meaning
hidden in
fractured light.

But you didn't
think of that:
do not realise
what I am
looking for.

But I am here.
I am here and I am
listening -
listening to endless
nothing.

For you make
pitiful words
priceless

because they are
yours.
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