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  • A Photograph for your viewing
    Go away, leave me please, to the destruction you have brought me. I
    have brought to me. We created together, as time slips away. Looking back
    cannot change the meaning intentions that they say paves the road to Hell.
    Why can't we have our cake and eat too. Never did I want the whole
    thing, a crumb only. Starved by my own hands, of the feelings and emotions
    denied me in my youth. Wake me, I feel as if I am dreaming. A nightmare
    that never ends. There seems nothing left for me. I cannot but go on. To die
    away has no meaning for me. This I know first hand. Lesson learned well.
    I see you often, but I am a ghost. Forever to look, passing through at
    every touch. Passed by, in your world I cannot exist. I speak words softly, you
    turn as if you hear. Just an audible illusion. Sounds conjured by the wind.
    Walking away, there waits for you just over the horizon. All becomes
    opalescent.
    Devotion to what holds me, the breath that gives me life. Sometimes I
    am tired of learning. An instructor suffers my scrutiny, as love is all to give,
    and heartache is the reward. Wishing only for the pupil, seeing struggles to
    the end. Listen closely to open eyes, direction my child.
    Holding to the one thing that burns and scares your hands. The warmth
    is delightful, until the flesh peels away. Waiting again tomorrow, the path
    but a circle. The carousal march in and of time. Round but not flat, hills and
    jagged edges. With heat to purify the brain.
    Pity me not, in sympathy I find disdain. Save it for the rain soaked. My
    strength is in my weakness. Within this I am alive, hope for another day. As
    the clouds blow away I see what is beyond my reach. Reason for me to try. I
    know insanity and what it means to be sane. They are partners. Say what
    you will. Facts are conclusive.
    These words wander not in sadness, they ride upon the breezes of
    thoughts. They drift away, floating slowly, softly. To tell a story to the reader,
    hidden in the sentences for their imagination. I am well aware of the pictures,
    but they are not mine. They are yours, and a right you have to hold.
    Sara Weatherholt

      May 23, 2011 2:17 AM BST
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