Sometimes I feel like cold snow after a snowfall, clinging to a windshield to escape the cold winds.

I’m afraid I’ll someone will brush me off before I find the warmth I seek from inside.

My sand brethren are tossed from the desert like dirt by the sandstorms.

Dust Storm

And they too rest on windshields, seeking shelter from the blustery winds.

But they too will get brushed off, before they find safety or calm.

It is hopeful that when they are tossed again by the sandstorm, they will find a shoulder to rest.

Before they are sent aground again by one who does not wish them there.

A toupee flaps back and reveals its owner’s true beauty.

Creating an illusion that is no longer a disguise.

Now in the rain and the darkness that must come with ominous, his umbrella attempts the same trick.

It must be forgiven for merely turning itself inside out.

We have no past other than memories, because we are the future and tend to forget.

Others may remember, but they are the lucky ones who cannot be forgotten.

How do I become one of them?

Nobody answers because nobody’s listening.

Maybe I should run away to a faraway place, where life is fantasy, and nobody knows the difference.

Who could find me there?

I pretend that somebody’s listening, and they give me the answer I’d like to hear.

I could go even further, to find a place where everyone supposedly goes someday.

I don’t want to go to a place like that.

Whoever came up with the horrible idea for this place surely can do no better there.

I should just wait, like a tree, or that man who slept beneath one.

Life size bronze of Rip Van Winkle sculpted by...

He surely didn’t know the difference.

Someone would surely find me there, and expose me to the world’s denials.

Invisible powers activate when least needed and most heeded.


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