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(The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #77 for Week of October 7-13, 2012)

I am no longer I, but I am.
I walk along an obscure path that I,
in ignorance, had cleared for myself.
Every leaf of every tree, each branch,
all blades of grass take note of me
as I pass.

It was no gentle breeze that powered through my will.
What once was unbreakable, bending in the storm,
has grown brittle, a fragile thing in the wake
of your gale-force charm.  The skin of my reason
is crusted over, only to be exploded and destroyed –
I am so easily exposed and dismissed.

It is a fever that has taken me away.  Vain efforts
at mending what has broken apart only exploit
the frail form of what I thought invisible.
No cry comes from dust and ashes – no piercing wail;
only the shuffling of empty shoes that rustle through
the detritus of pride, the husks of my soul’s sheaths
and all that I had gathered to me, a protection
from the unbearable humiliation of self-revelation.

I stop briefly on the river bank, where the willows
once draped over my being.  But it is winter.
The water rushes on, and takes note of me,
then passes on.

********************

Well, have I depressed you all enough. . .?

(As an antidote, take a peaceful seven minutes and watch the slide show, with music, I recently posted on the “Nature – Flora” page of “Reflected Glory – My Adventures in Photography.”)

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