My head is wrapped around thoughts
that are weaving emotions into a muffler
trying to silence my murmuring pain.
If life were a moving car
I woud be sitting in the backseat
staring outside the window
watching my dreams, my hope, my wishes
pass by like the lamposts and trees on roadside
The day melts into night,
the night again re births as day
But what remains is
the tornado in my heart
and the darkness above
I lie on my back outside in the verandah
facing the sky with arms spread, palms open
I recount my childhood days
When i would lie similarly
on the porch, counting the stars
Except then,
my arms were in the air as though
reaching out to embrace the universe
But what does an 8 year old know
about life, that with time becomes
more of leaving than living
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