By Morgan Brown McNeil
we all reach for them in the dark and emptiness of blank space.
The orchestras of all our forgotten forgotten thoughts must resonate into oblivion on the dark side of the moon.
The false pretense into which insipid trouts must wander.
Memories of things you don’t remember,
Ideas strung together on a thin tight rope, 100 feet in the air, only to fall into the pit of unremembered memories,
scars of hope,
blood sucked from the open wound,
Pounding on the door to freedom till blood drips from sore knuckles when no one has a key.
We all reach for them,
Morgan Brown McNeil is 13 years old. She has been writing in Woven Word Writers Workshop for three years. She is a level seven gymnast, a homeschooler, and she loves climbing trees.
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