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Jun 2016
.
In a cavern long about the edge of time
dwells a sadness deep upon my heart,
where fragments of my imagination
cry out from a desolate vault,
iron clad and riveted
of a stone mason’s might
Welded shut, encrusted with fear
and loneliness in unsealed envelopes
addressed to someone other than me

Where neighbors retrieve and process,
regardless of names and stamped signatures,
unwilling to pay the postage now due
of an encased memory shoveled
away to linger on each crow’s feather
that falls from the reaches far above my head,
dropping square tears from round eyes,
mapping my cheeks
in solitary traces of vertical weeping

Self imposed some may say,
and they could be correct, though
when it comes to forgotten, that heart of gold,
worth more than its weight in life,
pays more attention to the fate of others
than collecting breaths of this or any
next door, across the fence wisdom
For if they hurt, those who shouldn’t,
then what is the use

With heavy stone in hand I tap,
loudly on the reinforced tarnished structure
in a series of dots and dashes,
rhythmic chaos to some,
but patterned to the beat of my heart
saying, you are loved, you are cherished,
you are needed and most importantly,
you are not alone, hoping the chanting echoes
land upon listening ears,
and you can smile once more
and I can feel it
Stephan
Written by
Stephan  Camp Johnson Crossing NW
(Camp Johnson Crossing NW)   
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