The colors of jazz you see
flying here, playing there, that was me
music was my belief
in this long lost memory...

All things still pass
like shards of glass
floating and fading in misty aura
believing what we are...


Refraining  far beyond
grasping  to succumbe
releasing the cold
reflections of old....

Wasted days of silent answers
inside this eternity's blanket
through the immortal echo
reflections in a world of mirrors...

Release me I cry..
This is  goodbye
Please no more lies...

Debbie Brooks 2014