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Writer's pictureMartha Trudi Ryan

Who Knew?

Who knew how much the clouds would drift?

Who knew how much the sun would glow?

Who knew how many forceful echoes

Would becoming the whispers of souls?


Who knew the memories

That would embed themselves

Upon open hearts

And the most curious selves?


Who knew a bloodstream could run so deep

From whaling laughter or a fragile weep?


Who knew the songs we'd sing one day

From the melodies hymned of time gone by?


Who knew that intimate passions shared

Would enliven something much bigger than I?


All we can know is each decision at a time.

We need not a how, but simply a why.


Each time you peak further inside the door,

You invite the gentle awakening of something more.


Nobody knows how our lives will ufold/

All we truly know are the longings of our soul.

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