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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 01, 2018

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Submitted: October 01, 2018



Can’t you feel the cool air chilling down to crystal raindrops?
Can’t you feel the change of air stirring the endless, never-seeming-to-be peace?
And of course the voices of the morning dance upon a leaf
That flutters to the ground in hopes of a rebirth it will leave;
To give work to those who never asked for the work,
To give chance to those who have time to chance and work,
To give thrill to the chill as it bites and stirs the pages of a book
That’s held tightly by one who knows how to bask in the
Always-there-but-you’re- never-looking


So watch as the bare blazes of once green to now blend takes
And washes out the eyes with what could be nature’s graceful paint-
For nothing could be this beautiful unless a master of the craft has thought it,
And stroked worn brush across a canvas and wants it
To capture the passing dreams and staining spills of played out thrills
For tippy-toes and new found joys that make up all the girls and boys.

So let me ask you.

Can you feel?
Can you feel the dancing voices, shaking, hard mistake of choices,
The swaying leaves who took time to bring chores and all of what we can’t ignore?
So let me ask you.
Have you balanced each and all questions?
Have you found time to recognize each lesson?
Question after lesson after question to each blessing,
To fight again with the moral compass of passing tensions-
Every day a new center of testing.
Existence of the nonexistent runs you through mazes,
Wonder of the nonexistent fuels the existence that amazes
All that fell through the changing air to let us forget
The ‘once was’ and remember the ‘new seems’—
A “that’s too real for the eyes to seize”
With our predicament of unanswered questions reborn at the change,
But laid out with a shaky peace and a “Dear Lord, please.”
This is the peace only felt after the chaos you create,
Creation of chaos you can not erase
But certainly you can cover up with every trace
Of new pencil, of new friend, of new what must find way to last till the end,
But of what we find must end before our own soul finds its way 
Out of the body and into a mind of its own.
Now back to our home.
The sanctuary of spiritual uplifting, or for some, drowned out by wrong.
Wrong of the “right” and wrong of the wrong.
Of meaningless,
Brainwashing slap.
Of what you think is the right way to bulk up, thrill up flat. Life. Which is anything but.

But enough about that.

So put on your suit of warmth and take a step out the door.
Allow yourself to be enveloped in such a mystical world.
A time when the slow freeze air holds the truth of secrets locked away,
When the changing air brings out the feelings we miss,
Forget to miss,
Missing the feelings we wish to forget,
And along with that-
The crystal raindrops and a sky of wisdom and watchful, wandering eyes.
So for a year we are set.

With tippy-toes and new found joys that make up all the girls and boys.



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