Prophecies

Bones piled high

bleached white beneath scouring sands

time has turned for

each passing of the hour.

Tides flow in and ebb out

casting upon the shores

detrius found deep from beneath

magic and wonders not seen

since the last turn of the clock.

Tears leeched from their souls

tasking glories to be replaced

upon cobble stoned streets

that have been forgotten.

Prophecies abound and stories flow

of change to come once more.

 ©Jay-lyn Doerksen

September 28/17

That little voice

I am shedding. Very badly. Not sure why I am losing so much hair.

As I am staring at the pile of hair on the bed (really only a few strands) that voice that whispers these thoughts to me said:

Be thankful that it is your own hair. I was afraid I had left some behind as I stood over your sleeping body last night.

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