The poet's heart, grabbing at words
searching for a story which shares all,
wanting to be understood or teach..
past our orchestrated, manipulated, walls.
*
Four minutes of story, five minutes of gloat
one minute of glory, five minutes of fame
then back to our notebook of memories..
with dreams and past flickering flames.
*
amber of life, neither bad nor good.
just building blocks of festivities
that bring us toward something misunderstood.
a means to an end, of shared stories.
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