momentary whim

Zero the days and zero the years
Zero too the hour and the minute
To erase the colors of a memory--
Its texture scent and flavor--
Requires the skill of a child
And the cunning of a soldier

The return of shape and form
The shapes of laughter and joy
The surprising smile
and the regained life force
Become the dayis nourishment

What it is to live a half life--
Well, so many of us endure it!
It isn't lack of love or office
But more so the fear to leave
The lonely prison cell empty,
The fearless repetition of the unfulfilled,
The promise that never quite materializes

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