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Sand kicks up behind
mountains of legendary
treasures and secret stories,
whispered at nighttime
bonfires and moonlight
forest meetings.
The minute hand on the
clock snaps around,
rhythms blending into a
whirl that dissolves to
a fine layer of dust in
an abandoned shed
and quiet words carefully
traced into the floor.
Ooh. :D I like.
ReplyDeleteI hadn't heard of NaPoWriMo before but what a great idea. And the last line in your poem, of words traced in the dust, is stunningly beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI like the last two stanzas. Actually, the whole poem is lovely. :)
ReplyDeleteI like this poem a lot. Since your poems and posts are so good I have a award for you. http://booksareagarden.blogspot.com/2010/04/award_29.html
ReplyDelete