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Fragments, I have taken notes from my old books to open up and start writing some new poetry. Random lines and scribbles. Ideas never used or never followed before, to try to break the deadlock between me and something to say.

Notebooks

Notebooks

I heard the wind in the trees,
it carried voices.
Not that I see ghosts,
just their shadows.

The wind sometimes stays in the mountains,
afraid of the dry bones of the trees.
Tonight is not that night,
tonight there are echoes
of footsteps and laughter,
a Moon halo in the sky
and letters to the dead
on the hill where at night,
the Daisies close,
to hide from the dark.

All the rest is silent,
the shadow and the delicate crocus
resting in my hand.
Shh, wait for the moment.

If you write one thing
that in a moment touches someone,
it is everything.


Where does this come from? The original lines are below, feel free to add your own ideas.

Shh, wait for the silence

At the end of the moment,
all that remained was a silent stare.

Moon halo, cloud silence.
The wind stays in the mountains tonight,
afraid of the dry bones of the trees.

If you write one thing
that in a moment touches someone,
at that place it is everything.

This river is dark in the rain,
the water is patient.

Letters to the dead among the flowers.
Daisies close at night to hide from the dark.
Delicate crocuses, pale in my hand.

Low cut jeans and a gesture, a glare.

A look to die for, lived for, hoped for.

Echoes of footsteps and laughter
running through the silence.

I heard the the wind calling in the trees,
it carried your voice to me through the rain.

Its not that I see ghosts
Just their shadows as they brush past.

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