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Pretence Lost to Passion
Pretence
finds morning's
sensible feet
walking gingerly,
pretending all is fine,
as the moon loses its grip
like numb toes in bad running shoes.
Sunshine's crowds swallow dawn's solitude
'til last night's magic is lost in chaos.
Twilight approaching once more, sun's façade fades;
moon returns barefoot to waltz under heaven's sky.
Two a.m. chimes echoing from heights of clock towers;
no one will bother to note those cast away running shoes
grinning to see true love dancing in the starry eyes of night.
By Sharon Miller Bolander
© 2008 Peggy Paris (All rights reserved)
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