My life flashed before me
Not at the eleventh hour of death
Nor at the point of loss
My life flashed before me
Reflected on the silver screen
I knew it when I saw it
How contented I’d be
Not the materialistic nature of it
But the just-being-there of it
Abundance of open rooms
Flimsy curtains playing in the wind
Dancing carefree in the breeze
Blown into my face caressingly
As I slid jauntily by
With sand between active toes
Collecting ocean bleached rocks
Pants knee-down wet
From shoreline escapades
Frolicking before the hairline
Border of the expansive blue
Pouring words tirelessly
Content just to sit and write
Days blending into nights
Getting nary a night’s sleep
I saw my life as it ought to be
I won’t rest until it is so
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.
Not at the eleventh hour of death
Nor at the point of loss
My life flashed before me
Reflected on the silver screen
I knew it when I saw it
How contented I’d be
Not the materialistic nature of it
But the just-being-there of it
Abundance of open rooms
Flimsy curtains playing in the wind
Dancing carefree in the breeze
Blown into my face caressingly
As I slid jauntily by
With sand between active toes
Collecting ocean bleached rocks
Pants knee-down wet
From shoreline escapades
Frolicking before the hairline
Border of the expansive blue
Pouring words tirelessly
Content just to sit and write
Days blending into nights
Getting nary a night’s sleep
I saw my life as it ought to be
I won’t rest until it is so
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.
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