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Pocket Full of Winter

I stand in this vantage point

close to the edge of a river

close to the sound of water racing

looking skyward I see the dreams

evaporate into tiny crystals

floating helplessly carried by the winds

on an everlasting journey.

Reaching skyward

I stretch only to touch a nightmare

stick it into my pocket

full of these sad stars

failing to shine

in the moonlight

which has no name.

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