In Quiet

In the quiet of the morning
I feel the past pull back again.
Wrapping its slender fingers
around my neck and shoving
me back to then –
A time of unlimited frivolous
frequent freedom.
When the world spun
a thousand times slower,
and the lightness shone
from deep within our souls.
In the quiet of another morning.
When life just skipped along,
and the crowds that crowd us out
are just figments at the shore.


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