Physical Rinse

Catching snowflakes
like brushing dandruff from my hair
Will the moisture from my brown eyes
ever be enough?

The voice hears me
but it reacts in silence
Or is it that I cannot hear
over the fear that delights me?

The Pen talks to the Paper
No matter the cover though
It All tastes the same way

My hand is the net that catches
cathartic reality
Soon, it will be over

But will glee stomp out indecision
before my aching hands turn cold?
Was it I who cleared the path
or some unknown
bidding me adieu
like the chosen lucky few who
found a sharper shovel

Let me walk on the frozen water
to thaw it on my way
to that somewhere
Catching snowflakes

in my life-preserver

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