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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

 Not in This Place
 
Like so many grains of sand,
sweet sleep slips through my grasp.
And slipping through are thoughts of you,
of what I pray will last.

My fingers curl toward my palm,
as sand gives up its space.
Yet not to air, but your hand there,
is resting in its place.

Then as the last few grains of sand
return to whence they came.
Your hand, your heart, your love impart
a warmth, real as a flame.

So as my gaze is lifted up
to see you here with me.
Our thoughts embrace, as time and space
suspend you near to me.

But then our time together ends;
then you and I must part.
While as you go, I pray you know,
you're leaving with my heart.

And still we hope, there'll come a day
when we can be together.
When through His grace we'll find a place
where we can live forever.
 
Kevin Metcalf
1998

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