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beats

Staccato
Rhythm
Hope
The beats of my heart measure in such a way,
No, they never really do just go away.
The staccato short and sweet,
Smooth and clean…

The rhythm it’s there too,
Flows like sweet blues…
Soft and quiet, complex and unbroken…
Fast and decelerated a symphony all of its own…

Yet, the hope, so hard to find is embedded in my mind,
Faint as a ghost, forgiving and kind…
It was all too thoughtful, all so right…
Never did my heart look back; never did it realize the plight…
Always and forever, and ever…..
The beats of my heart have rhythm, hope, and blues…
They are simple, clean and never forgotten….



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