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nearasnow

hope was born on a windy day
at seven p.m.
your sudden smile
illuminated the fog
of my ailing soul
heartache was an ever darkening bruise
that starlight could never heal…
your hands still try to work miracles
but you disappear as often
as moonlight on a stormy night
and through the ebb and tide of my need
you ride the waves of my salvation
like a pirate
caught between lust for rich horizons
and a part-time philosopher
in love with ideals

. . .