
I miss the days of lost in cerulean and clouds,
even though searching for you came with a cost,
my mind ardently invented you as I lie on the ground.
moments screamed past me then, and there’s no getting them back,
yet I feel fulfilled when memories rush in,
blessed, some would say to forget what I lacked.
a path was forged, one I so desperately needed,
the voice inside me tasted like screaming –
to most it wouldn’t make sense but free, my friend, isn’t always freedom.
With another summer passed, I can get nostalgic as the memories of the current and past summers rush in. Always a feeling of wonder and this need to hold onto something of the past ~ so your words at the end of this latest masterpiece of yours “to most it wouldn’t make sense but free, my friend, isn’t always freedom…” hits perfectly. Cheers to you, my friend ~
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Hi, Randall. Nice to have you stop in to say hello. I saw you had a new post. Been waiting to relish its wisdom. Looking forward to reading this evening. Summer is incredibly bold with its opportunistic playground. I do enjoy what it has to offer, yet as it comes to an end we consider those missed opportunities. May your weekend be blessed. ♡
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Beautiful poem, Audrey. 💕
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Thanks so much, Lauren! ♡
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Beautifully written yes isn’t always freedom ☺️ well shared ❤️❤️
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Thank you for your comment. 😃
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Nor is freedom always free. Nice one, Audrey.
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Indeed, John, indeed. Thank you 😊
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