Dedicated to snatches of song that can sum up your state of mind at that moment. To those song- writers and poets who string words together that anyone can own. To my own pen, that can create pieces of song, though rare...
of rolling in the sky
like a hurt and broken bead.
I reach out
through the window of the rain
pluck it out
and place it on top of my half-read book.
It beats there,
like a pulse.
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