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Mark Lecuona Feb 2015
What storms exist in a beautiful mind,
   never to pass us by?

Drawing the sun from looming shadows
To separate what is to be known in time
Portioned among swirling ridges of worry
By horizons that never forget to remind

He found the way was not the winds,
   but to walk within the eye

Drawing the calm from looming concerns
To separate might be from once was
Portioned among flower beds to be saved
By those who decided to live just because

Which doors did he lock, trapping forever,
   the Furies that make him cry?

Drawing the good from looming terror
To separate his soul from flesh that breeds
Portioned among those who have not given up
By those who are willing to plant new seeds

Which door remains open within his heart,
   knowing not to ask God why?

Drawing reason from random acts of evil
To separate destiny from forgotten lives
Portioned among those with the will to live
By those who carry on after silent goodbyes

— The End —