Sunday, November 9, 2008

Mingling of the Lights

Whispers in the wind
Hushed and muted
Yet not silenced completely

I hear the change before I see it
I taste it before I hear
Change. It returns different as always.

In the Mingling of the Lights
When shadows dance in play
My spirit rushes to join them
In the fading remnants of the day.

The wind whispers
The light weeps
And the soil is livid
For Change is come
Blown hither again

And as before, so after
I rush to greet it
And my shadow waits for me...

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