Cashmere 

discovered

woollen robes

now coarse. 

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We remember 

what we feel;

good,

bad,

laughter

and the sad. 

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Salt spray

on lips, 

sea felt 

long before 

it was seen.

Harbour no haven, 

still to set off 

on rising winds 

of a storm.

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If landscape

is poetry,

paint the poem

blue.

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Face taken in hands,

strands of wet curled hair thumbed back.

Lips silence protest. 

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Eyes hold unfilled hours,

heavy dreams without sleep.

A heart unguarded. 

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Free will opens the soul to a fallen world. 

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