green lines trace the form
on pastel purple paper
creating an insignia
new to us all
we shouted aloud
affirmative accolades
until we learned 
it was a symbol
of insidious past hate
what is new never is
what is old always is
with memory shadows
moving forward
trying to forget
trying to forget

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They waited for me to return,
To the hometown I never knew;
Thinking I was their native son.
But like a vagabond gypsy,
I left to experience the world.
In every place I called home
They thought,
“This is now his hometown.”
Until I packed up and moved on;
Taking with me some of each town and city;
But always leaving some of me behind.
They waited for me to return
To the hometown I never knew.
They are still waiting.
And I am still traveling.

I wrote as I was reflecting on all the places I have lived. From the time I was born until I left home upon graduating from high school I lived in 14 different towns/cities and went to 8 different schools. Since leaving home at age 17 I have lived in 12 different towns/cities.


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Reflections at 70

At birth
The world,
 Was a  blank canvas;
A palette,
Every color imaginable;
A brush,
Placed in my hand
To paint what could be.

At death,
A self-portrait,
Painted through decades
Of what was and is;
With permanent brush stokes
Highlighting how I lived.

A gypsy caravan
Across this beautiful world;
Stopping to paint
Breathtaking beauty of mountaintops,
Piercing pain of valleys,
Exhilaration of achievements,
Despondence in disappointments;
A tapestry of
Laughter, tears, trials, and triumphs;
A marvelous adventure
Lived with those I love.

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