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WINDS OF TIMEHaunting echoes on the wind, whispers of what could have been. Fluttering through the catacombs of time, images in black and white and mime. Hidden deep within these hallowed halls, long lost ghosts of memory recalls. Sunshine negated sometimes by rain, phantom child song in refrain. Years flow by in dreamy increments, on celluloid ribbon, a sixth sense. Predestined to be as ordained, In hazy negatives, deftly framed. The days allotted, continue to flow, drifting away, where do they go ? Time becomes an entity personified, it's wind's sweep past the tears cried. Into dust they are all blown away, destined toward that climactic day. As from one life to another we ascend, a new beginning - never to end. copyright©2004 Meg Nelson (all rights reserved) Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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