Wednesday, June 28, 2006


we spend our lives in dark places,
in storage, in waiting
for special moments
christmas day or an anniversary

we come into view,
proud of what we are
endeared with enough care
to be passed among hands
a gift, a souvenir

in bright times
we leave impressions
lasting generations
a chance at transcendence
to new hands, new hearts

but in the lay of time
we are mostly just things
untouched, unheld,
staying inanimate, cold
not a velveteen rabbit
not a warm hobby horse

yet we have moments
when with velvet and wood
blood is caused to stir
giving pulse and rhythm

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