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Epiphany of the Day

what is real to me?
i'm running out of ways
to bitch about trees
and the weather by the beach.
i should write of space and time;
record my ironic life on blue lines
for strangers to love after i've died.
they will call out my words when
they're hurt or concerned, and then
they will feel fine. no crying out
eyes, multiplying in time to create
a better life. i will be free
from currency and to my mother,
i will be kind. consistant As are
my grade,           know my name,
for when i come back someday,
we'll hug and speak of the love
that runs like blood through our veins.
what is real to you?
probably just sports and the
six o'clock news. your thin hair
contrasts, like the earth and the
grass underneath your shoe. and
as it gets dark, you stare at the stars
but i am looking at you. look how
much you've grown, i can tell you're
alone from the circles under your eyes.
they are beautiful rainclouds
surrounding sad skies, and when you
look at me i see something more,
something much greater than what
lay there before. something hopeful,
i swear! it's right there, in your stare
and i dared to ask what had changed.
in rage you explained;
"everything is a game.
its all stays the same, summer
falls to winter and springs up
again,               but still with the same face.
blue is just blue, there's nothing
new, just changes in placement and name."

16 Mar 07

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l42 typo, other than that this is great
 — unknown

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 — chloee

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