A Poem by Arly Parent

These...are the memories  
watch them whip away  
and dissipate  
like leaves that have withered on the vine  
in a world that makes no sense  
These are the voyages  
to the place I marked with smoke  
to the place where bullets fly  
cups run dry  
and a night's sleep is an oft told joke  
These are the voyages...  
To the place where voices echo but no one spoke  

© 2015 Arly Parent

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Added on February 20, 2015
Last Updated on February 20, 2015


Arly Parent
Arly Parent

Lantana, FL

There's nothing about me. I play with pauses as well as silence. I write words, assign meanings and junk, and play with a language that might be as much my own as another. I don't know. more..


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