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October skies and November chills
by Kyle Moree
10/24/07
Not For Sale
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These October skies and November chills have left some nasty stitches on my arms. My lungs contract as I take in the view from this valley. An awkward, but all too familiar aroma begins to make its way back into the holes in my soul.

This nasty taste in my mouth feels like a piece of old gum. One that for the life of me I canít spit or take out. Sometimes, this does feel like home. As if I could sleepwalk myself all over and never fall down. This fall feels a lot like the last one and the one before that.

Itís my tendency to do this. To fall and talk in my sleep of ways to get out, but never attempt the break. And the one that was the answer to my sleepless tears doesnít seem to be present. The one I entrusted my everything into doesnít seem to be real. Maybe it was a blind judgment. I am easy to fool after all. My heart knows no difference.

To pick at these stitches sends my whole being into a shock of pain. As if my body didnít know the wounds were here. But they are. And they speak. But I donít listen. And who does? And who wants to? We all carry them. Maybe they respond to different titles or fancy names, but we all carry one or two.

I canít say that Iíve named them, or even come close to understanding the lifelessness in my eyes. But maybe itís for the best. To ignore and be ignored. To spend a life finding ways to hide everything true and show everything false. Itís been a bitter-sweet life. One, that if I was honest could say, that I have not enjoyed so much.

October bites at my ankles and November stares me down with worries and countless tasks that I need to do. But for right now I am here. Typing to an audience of no one, hoping that the next to read will see more then my small vocabulary, but would see the pain of year outstretched on this screen.

Itís through wishing that I am still here. The hoping that one of these days the grace and everlasting peace I sing about will find me. And will find me wanting; wanting more, so much more then this life, so much more then the gifts at my feet and the hat on my head.

I hope when he finds me. Heíll find me wanting.


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