11-3 Or 4-12 - Poem by Junepaulette GasrelTibbetts
What is the day?
So long has one asked.
The day is -uh-I don't know.
Minutes to hours -Years measured by dreams.
The pattern of time
To leave it's soul unknown.
I waited for today to happen.
So many years to reveal its' truth.
The innocent victim
finally meets the weary soul.
Should I smile and feel I won the battle?
Or does the battle still rage on?
Gold mixed beauty,
Clinging to a borrowed dream.
To push time to a moment
When the veil was lifted
And my heart,
was a friend,
Not a thief.
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