Still Life
by Gary Abosch

The echos of my past
scream like a child with a skinned knee
too loud to be ignored
too out of reach to be comforted
in sleep do I silence them
those golden moments of another world
where mistakes are not made
and the past can be refreshed
that screaming child will heal
and suffer the same wound again
as I rise and become familiar
yet again with the blank canvas
that waits for the day's brush strokes
as it does for its smears.

Written May 23, 2001, 4:31 pm
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