One Hundred Words A Day
Wednesday, May 26, 2010


Whatever you did not write, will never be written.
A door shut tight,
Train out of sight,
Memories erased.
Did they even exist?
vaporous air,
was smoke.

The worse death, to leave nothing behind.
But worst
for me, who love you,
now have nothing to trace back roots.

How will I discover, and uncover, pen in hand
An archeologist bending on her shovel, and dustpan.
How do I follow your handwriting like pebbles
to lead me home on forsaken paths
from the dark wood.

Whatever you didn't write, I will.
Open that door,
bring back that train
Now your memories are words.

You exist.

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Mother, Engineer, writer, manager, and more. I am a bit of everything, a creature of God. I am passionate with life. I fear death and its many forms. I love my mind, cherish my body. I express through WORDS.

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