The dust we leave behind

Patterns have become the reflected
whole of this life.
Kaleidoscope of fractured moments,
the shattered pieces of time.
The broken hopes and fears of all
those inner struggles.
Now their brittle pain is the
resonance of this passage.
Their glitter caught, in the bucket
of memories, are scars.
Their sharp edges have cut deep
the strings that bind the soul.
When the bleeding is done
there will be nothing left.
Nothing except a scarlet trace in time
and the dust we leave behind.
I am you, you are me, we are one,
mirrors reflecting each other.
Until the light dims into darkness,
and so it goes.

Copyright: 2009,  Donald Harbour

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