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A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . .
A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . . My ears cleaved to the door frame of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse, were there many? Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter that told him what they saw. Speaking in broken English, he continued. They pushed for space, women…
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An Evergreen For Your Heart. . .
(I falter dreadfully. There was more violence in a school this week. I say that I will make another ocean with tears that do not stop. I cannot write nor put up a heart with a rip up the middle again. Cannot sew it up again. Then I read that someone pulled up a bygone…
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To The Old Country. . . immigrant I am. . .
Immigrant . . . I watched as you worked a mind through endless turmoil, sifting and sorting truth and fantasy and arriving. . . You opened eyes and unblinkingly stated, ‘you have always known, haven’t you? How did you do it?’ I knew I could not take even a moment of self revelation away,…
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I Wish It For You. . .
There comes that time when night falls unto itself and one says I call it a day. It is time for the night air to wrap us in its ambience and for us to taste of its elixir. It is when memories are called upon that feed the soul when lives were their richest in…
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The Mortgaged Soul. . .
Taking Time. . . You say that it takes all your time to do what it is you do. And you are the only person who can speak from that point of knowledge knowing what is required. But we were all born doing reference work in the Talmud which teaches that the purpose of life…
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The Road To Damascus. . . .
Just One Time. . . . All it takes is one cosmic experience and your life is changed forever. Just one and either you will run down the street in your altogether and the men in white coats will take you away or it will alter your life so that even you won’t recognize the…
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The Light In Our Hearts. . .
We carry the Light in our hearts and it reflects in your eyes. You carry the heat of its flame and we both are warmed. Silvery, silvery night, piercing as the child’s cry cuts sharply into complacency, peace-ing the soul; unerringly slipped into a world of nights to make a difference. The Light and Flame…
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What The World Needs. . . .
The Tender Embrace. . . We all speak from memory. Whether it is ours or not, it makes little difference. For within us it is so that the one time speaks for all time. And everything else is a variation on a theme. I could not know how deep the emotion which evoked the…
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And Gather Moonbeams. . .
We Dance. . . We dance then through the night sky and gather moonbeams for our baskets. . . We strew them onto the paths of the children who will pick them up and throw them with joy to the night sky. They will be stars again to be gathered by a one who recognizes…
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Tangible Slices of Memory. . . .
This was from the box of forget-me-nots that I couldn’t part with. This was the first Christmas card I made. With whatever I have gained in computer literacy, I have been able to restore a reasonable semblance of the faded copy I was able to unearth. There was no discretionary income to spend on materials,…