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Mar 2017
.
pale bright yellow infringes
just beneath shadowed drift
of lingering snow

as if a nascent smoldering flickers
breathlessly gasping for light
penetrating cracks on whiter opaque

wondrously drawn skywards
'neath an unseen sky so far away
revealing an obscure warmth
in blossoming will

tomorrows vanguard
unfolding beneath a blanket
that only grows deeper
over the long winter night 

a darkest silence borne
beyond frozen time layered depths

in the magic of a moment,
the clouds let the wind stir
the fickle sun's yellow paint brush

and like an burgeoning embryo,
a reclusive hope bursts forth
metamorphosis within
an all encasing hidden evolution

the wind whispers an audible sigh;
a sole daffodil peeks out
from enveloping darkness,

  casting out the memory
               a beautiful light hidden within


                         words in the wind


        ... February 28th, 2017 and counting
traces of being
Written by
traces of being  I really have no name
(I really have no name)   
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