The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


Lights are dim and night is still,
Tranquil room with sound to fill,
I lay there listening just awake,
Heart thumping fast I hear it quake.

Placing my hand over the heart,
Fingers together and not apart,
I believe it is dancing to a tone,
Sensing however it is not alone.

There are others amid beating fast,
Racing to win yet none are last,
They are skipping jolly full of joy,
Faster and faster like a windup toy.

It makes no sense for many more,
One heartbeat enough within my core,
Keeping the secret from the world,
Never I shared nor another told.

My love for life and the human face,
One heartbeat for me the rest for race,
I emerge at last healing cosmic mother,
Forever mending heartbeats of another.

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