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a garden tender

There is no capture
for my words
no pen or paper
here
inside me
I shall not see the smooth flow of calligraphy
rounded letters and dotted “I”s
filling the linen white and textured
with words sharp and bold
there is no capture
for my silenced sound
I scream within
and yet I am muted
Never to reveal
Never to whisper
Never to think aloud
my secret thoughts
my lost dreams
still so vivid
still so alive
remain within this old quiet gentle man
I am fulfilled and only at peace
in my secret world within
It is my refuge from fears
A garden tender and tendered, colorful flowered
Alive with sweet butterflies
Dewed by so many, so many unwept tears....

Autres oeuvres par Norman Goldstein...



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