Traces

June 27, 2011
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Dust blows through the empty streets.
Rotting doors stand wide open.
Nothing is living,
no animals or people,
not even birds flying overhead.
Slowly turning, I wonder what had happened.
Who had lived here?
What were they like?
Emptiness surrounds me.
There is nothing.
But then,
looking closer I saw details.
A child marking his height on a door frame,
hand prints pressed into the sidewalk cement.
It wasn't empty, wasn't nothing.
Traces of life all around,
You just have to look a little closer.





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