broken glass.

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”  – Anton Chekov 

 

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weathered.

In the midst 

of my meadow

grow dandelions and wild grass

where control once reigned

I sit. 

Weathered. So weathered.

Still sturdy. 

Yet tired. So tired.

Hoping someone 

will want to take care of me

as I age and

my skin does crack.

         — edwinleroy

  

window to the soul.

Within a narrow
gravelly alley found,
hugged snuggly
among stacks of stone,
rests a silent soulful window
for peering deeply in,
or staring vaguely out.
See
crumbling cloaks of paints past
cling desperately,
protecting glances, chances,
as mirrored panes prevent
glimpses of the mystery behind.

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