Absorbed he bent his     head,

listening,     to hear the echoes of days past

and hearing nothing, lapses into sleep

where he is young again, yearning.


She was there laughing, but with no 

name and waking he frustratedly 

tugged the rug, warmly wrapping his 

legs which no longer walked his way.


A noise startles him and turning, he

sees a stranger a sweet, mouth smile

on her face, sorry for what she sees,

her lover’s connection hard broken.


Tis his forgotten thrill of love too,

tears run down as the dark deep

sadness of a nowhere loss, holding

him close to gently dry his cheeks.


Love speaks and he hears sounds,

their unfamiliar shapes of confusion,

sinking in they soothe his soul and for 

 a moment his smile blooms again.


She silently shows photos of strangers,

and helps him with his cooling tea,

then kissing that cold cheek. she leaves

taking with her the echoes of his living.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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