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Tuesday, January 20, 2015


Every passing day
A twist of a kaleidoscope.
Colourful shards that play
With old fragments of hope.
Shake the round hard tube
To chase your dreams away;
But the pieces remain true
To hues of yesterday.
A floating feather on wisp-like wings,
A baby's touch, sweet whisperings.
Soft swirls of shapes, sudden smiles bring.
Fleeting memories that flew, letting go of their death-like cling.
Patterns new are but patterns old,
Whirling tides of fate as we've often been told.