Haunted Memories
by Patricia A Boudreau
Thursday, December 05, 2002
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Oh here they come again,
the tides of memories
that crash my mind and
empty through my eyes.
Falling drops that glisten
upon my outstretched hands
escaping through my fingers
as they grasp and try to hold
something that can never be contained.
Pieces of my mind,
fragments of my soul,
ripple through my life,
in waves that time the
beatings of my heart.
I struggle in a vain attempt
to catch and hold the moments
on this beach that is littered with the past.
All the old, elusive dreams,
just beyond my reach, disappearing
in the fog of yesterdays.
So I sit upon this moment
sifting through the past,
searching for the losses
that haunt my present days
with the ghosts that walk tomorrow's
memories... |
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| Reviewed by Micha Julian |
2/21/2003 |
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Oh, damn...Tricia, I...this is so beautiful and it, it hurts, aches, hurts...and I...oh...just thank you, you have such a gift, I may be near tears, but, well, thank you... for your gift
and for you, how grateful I am for (((You)))
this is so beautifully written, yet this pain...all too real, bravo, Tricia! Oh.... |
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| Reviewed by richard poor |
2/6/2003 |
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| wow! do i know you? |
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| Reviewed by John Hutchinson |
12/6/2002 |
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| Hang in there old friend-time is the only healer! |
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| Reviewed by Brittany Reneé (logged out) |
12/5/2002 |
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| Wow! |
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| Reviewed by - - - - - TRASK |
12/5/2002 |
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12-05-02
For I Am Clean,Good, I Am Gracious, I Am Kind, I Am All That Is In The Eye's Of (God)___
For Your Just Reward's Are Not In Of This Physical World,i.e With Out Dream's We Would Never Make It, It As Good memories Keeps Us Alive!
TRASK Thanks For Your Comments! |
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| Reviewed by Jerry Andrews |
12/5/2002 |
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| "the tides of memories that crash my mind and empty through my eyes. Beautiful...poignant...yearning for what once was all you ever wanted? My Maine wolf- lady you sure can write! |
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| Reviewed by Amor Sabor |
12/5/2002 |
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Excellent work, Patricia. Loved the lines.
Amor |
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| Reviewed by James David Compton (Reader) |
12/5/2002 |
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It does seem at times that our lives are but scraps of memories, and when the wind blows, we scramble to save them from disappearing with the breeze.
Haunting write. |
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