Saturday, May 26, 2012


words on a monitor
bring the past to the present

of the dance
speaks sorrow
of all the tomorrows
tossed away
never to see another day

what now
i don't know how
to move that way
see i have learned to play
in a whole new way

not perfect
but beautiful in its grace
that has been given space
to move to a new place

my words will raise
to the maker of praise
hoping there will be more days

the present is the gift 
the past has been set adrift

the future...
it's not my move

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