Spring In Your Step

Spring In Your Step

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WpMetadataReadComplete Fri, Apr 10, 20205m
"The spring hasn't arrived yet. The park's ponds haven't thawed. The flowers haven't bloomed. The sun, still in slumber. The only song that I can hear is that of a lonely heart. With each beat, my hands grow colder. I can no longer feel the warmth of my mother's hand in mine. What a terrible gift to remember all that you experience as an infant. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if I didn't recall her. Waking up to my mother's beautiful amber eyes that outshone the sun. Her sweet touches, her silky hair. Her every word was music to my ears." A short story inspired by a prompt on reedsy.com: "Write a story about someone walking through a park on a spring evening, told only through internal monologue."
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I am a Poet, surfing the rainbows... Squandering the few surviving winks in my dreamy eyes. I, a well accompanied loner, saunter amidst the fireflies. Like a wandering dream, my restless mind meanders, "Will the same butterflies return to the flower?" It wonders. I am the thief who thieved the fire, to set the ideas ablaze, I stole the rains too, I had to flood the despondent deserts. But Metaphors I'd just borrow, they would never be mine. Metaphors can't be tamed, they belong to poetry, not poets. I roam unescorted and unaccompanied. I'm just exploring. Whilst, really there is nothing to find. "Sshh!" There is everything to find... Yet I roam... As a Poet. I roam. The wilderness, of the mind, the canyons of consciousness. -Harish Vaid harishvaid1986@gmail.com A collection of Poems, of the unusual sort. Read along for poems ranging from Love to Life, General to Abstract, Random to Insane. Intended to be an ongoing series. "Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." -Leonardo Da Vinci Love all... Love you all. "Amor Vincent Omnia"

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