Watching Rust

Perhaps I can write again

when the paralysis lessens.

Fountains that bubbled

to overflowing are silent now,

dry and dirty.

Even memories used to

bring forth such

lush images

are empty, hiding

in dark corners.

They no longer

whisper to me.

I can see life move

around me,

but yet I lie

fallow. Still.

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6 thoughts on “Watching Rust

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