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Freedom and consequences

By S. A. CrawfordPublished 5 months ago 1 min read
Photo by cottonbro studio

If you could count the lost moments,

or hold them in your palm like seeds,

what would they sprout?

Mine slip through my fingers like condensation down a glass,

when they hit the table they will wither.

They were not made to last.

In the misty realm of the mind,

time ceases to matter.

There is only now,

and then -

Did and didn't.

Could and should.

If we beat ourselves less for the moments we lost,

and loved a little better what we kept,

would 3 am go unseen?

Would we worry less about the lost?

Or float,

or slip away, adrift in the spaces between?

surreal poetry

About the Creator

S. A. Crawford

Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.

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Comments (3)

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  • Babs Iverson5 months ago

    Super superb surreal poem!!! "Count the lost moments," what a beautiful thought!! Loved it!!!❤️❤️💕

  • Donna Renee5 months ago

    “In the misty realm of the mind” is a whole mood and I love it!!

  • Alex H Mittelman 5 months ago

    Great work! Fantastic job!

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