Clyde King
San Antonio, Texas
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The Unspoken

I hear the rustle of dry leaves
I feel the ruined bones
I see swirling reds, blues, greens
Fading like water colors on wet paper

I look for corners folded over
Of pages in the books you once read

There are no notes in the margins
No words underlined to help me
Remember what was lost
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The Unspoken
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: love,death,friendship,loss
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COMMENTS
Make Shift 20 March 2017
A heartfelt poem, well written.
1 0 Reply
Clyde King 24 March 2017
Thank you. I look forward to reading yours as well, Kaldorei. That's an interesting name. What does it mean?
0 0 Reply
Clyde King 16 September 2018
Thank you Make Shift. I like the name you’ve chosen.
0 0 Reply

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