in the slow progression
and small irritations of daily life
the musty smell
of lost opportunities permeate
my venial indulgences
dry as grass in a drought
precious fantasies
and raucous hopes
are shriveling
waiting for time to spin
the wheel of happenstance
waiting for something
extraordinary
a growing desire
to act on the urge
to fall into
an opening
a blooming
a canyon so vast
as to lose myself
for the rest of my days
© 2008 Melissa Songer
I understand.
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