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SHORT POEMS

Writer's picture: Sandra BashawSandra Bashaw

another day

another morning, another night

one heart trying to open up

another heart knocking at the door

a thousand lighted candles stand in the hall

a window opens through to yet another time


*


The moon is watching everything we do

these days I feel ashamed

I cannot lose the feeling

that we might have seen

the last innocent spring


*


When she was a kid there was something in her bedroom closet

it was something that shouldn't be there

it was something scary.


Lying in her bed, as night came closer

she'd watch the colors drain

from all the things in her room

everything now

dusky gray and black.


If she turned to her left side

she could see her closet door, slightly ajar

she'd stare at it until it slowly began to open –

open a few inches and then close back

she was too scared to call out

and maybe worst of all

the closet door was between her bed

and her escape through the bedroom door to the hallway

She felt a little safer in her bed

but not much.


*


I was born on the verge of tears

an Irish heart that's been weeping

for a thousand years

the sorrow of a child

the sorrow of the world, wrapped around a shoulder

a war weary soldier who can't go home


*


next time around I want to spend

a couple centuries enjoying the universe

cruising the stars

before I head back down here

with my instruction manual

in my new jeans




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