projections of the now

the crackling sound of the rain falling on the dry leaves
reminds me that it is fall
the flowing stream if seasons sharpens memories
nothing can remain hidden, pushed away
into the neat boxes of forgetfulness--nothing!
just like the winds of autumn carries the leaves,
there is a force that liberates our spirit
a force that lifts away the fog of inert regret
and propels us forward into a the blinding lights of destiny

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