Clandestine Self…

I meditate on the splendor of my existence, the magnificence

that I exist at all, and without warning I might hear loves tender

call. Without lamentation, I enjoy the sensation. Outward beauty

is a word that has no importance, beauty is naught to me, look

deeper the real me is what you will see.  The stream of my sensation

is clear, I am content, for the moment, let me be, I believe that love

resides here. Yet love is a word that has no meaning, it means nothing

to me.  I cannot be persuaded, I am tranquil, see the flesh of my being,

take it, sate yourself, and leave my thoughts to me.

 

 

2013©annjohnsonmurphree

 

http://www.amazon.com/Honeysuckle-Memories-Ann-Johnson-Murphree-ebook/dp/B00CG61816/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407438538&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-Murphree

 

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