Windows of the heart
blow open revealing
sacred places behind
melting panes
of glass a scene of
Walt Whitman’s house
on field trips last
night, long ago,
far flung flags
of glory
blowing in the
winds of mind
yet there’s
no turning back
the eternal now
moments short-lived
in the struggles
of a solitary man
in a world gone wrong
longing for love
yet hope remains
behind stained
windows of the heart
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