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October 22, 2013
All Poetry


It's in the empty space of the flute that music is made.
Holding space in my spirit.
For dreams yet to come.
Trying to tune my energy to make music of my passion and desire.

The ghosts of my past keep trying to jump in. A full Orchestra playing songs of my past. Sitting on the floor in the middle of my haunted symphony with just my wooded flute. Trying to conduct the many ghosts of the past and quiet them down, drums, horns and strings. One by one their tempo and volume slowly fade as I continue to make peace with the devils in my past.

The lights dim to a black out on my haunted orchestra. With a single spot light on me and my flute. Scared and alone, this song has never been created before. I play as if my life depends on it. In some ways it does.


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