Late afternoon, summer – sky felt deep.
Lost in the sound of children laughing and the trees.
No place to be, the day flows easy, my mind stretches for miles.
Off in the distance, there is a faint melody.
Maybe it was the stream, the birds, in me?
Almost a memory, almost a feeling.
As I lay in the grass, grounding to the earth beneath;
I thought I heard a smile, a hum, a breath.
Maybe it was the clouds breaking above, the hills rolling, gravity?
Time has faded the visionary.
At her feet, the guitar sits silently, the strings used to weep, soar and sing.
Now it’s just a thing.
The words stopped rhyming.
The minstrel, he took flight,
On one wayward night,
Erased everything.
Yet in the park, the warmth covers her heart;
Now she remembers nothing.


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