A Brush With The past.
A brush With The Past.
Just a painting
slightly skewed
on the wall of my soul,
I can still see her
framed in long lost dreams.
Summer romance sizzling
into Septembers embers.
There's a gallery
hung from many summers of
my youth but this one....
©-MFB III
The Dirty Thirties.
There was no grain
in the dust bowl,
only children
gazing sadly at
the emptiness
set before them.
Mothers weeping
softly in the
wee hours,
and farmers
dragging horse
drawn miscarriages
across infertile land.
©-MFB III
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Portrait Of A Stilled Life.
Discovered in an alleyway,
this child of the streets,
was draped in diamonds
only Mother Nature could bestow.
Glistening under November’s sun
its first frost coating her flesh,
she was dirt poor but found richness
in her escape from despair.
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