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Truth Of Me

Stepping from stone to stone

feeling the layers from core to surface,

dreams softly ripple and drum thunderously.

Sometimes choked with acid memories,

Spring's sonnet strings a delicate minuet.

Swaying to the ebb and flow

of moon's commanding forces,

a musing monologue plays across my lips.

Heeding heartbeat's rhythms,

the tapestry weaves life's pattern.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author notes

Your questionable prompt is: When my eyes are closed, am I truly seeing anything?

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