Brush

Brush of uncertainty trickles in the mind

With what are we to do

Now that the story is invisible

Constant dwelling on things not fixable

We realize to leave alone

Turning the page the words are missing

Though not too late for new chapters

Ahead in time to new beginnings

Life lingers just a bit on the end of the ink

Do we dot the end of the line or encompass it

Passing so fervently each page no longer missing words

What can be new is each second we make important

The Life as our whole being

No longer divided

Just a brush of determintaion

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. kathy
    Aug 31, 2013 @ 06:52:31

    Very thoughtful, Sara! I like this one!

    Reply

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