Friday, 26 November 2010


There are times when I drop my shoulders
and feel myself fall as a stream of confetti
without the wondrous sense of ecstasy
I can see in the eyes of your child.

And in times like these, I pray
for a gentle soul to sweep me up
and speak of how I wept,
and see a glint in their own eyes.

For what's the point of confetti
If the warmth of laughter remains
absent from our hollows
without a smile to save?

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