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Fade Away...

Like a foggy morning mist
That rises with a distant sun
My words come back to me
Barely remembered, until seen

Strange, how they escape so readily
Their stories told by proxy
Written in the blood of electric ink
Frail and prey to the whim of misplaced keys

Someday, they will be lost
Like abandoned tales of somewhere else
Though their remnants will live briefly
In hallowed halls of repeated echoes

When they fade away, are they free
To be rewritten, to find new life?
They say that there is nothing new under the sun
I find that intriquing, a mystery...

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 
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Not Explicit Content

Comments

Dear Geez, intriguing reverie on the words we type over the years. To think that "nothing new under the sun" is in the old Testament.
I'm inclined to believe that, in a general way, at least humankind appears incapable of real change. We just go from one catastrophe to another, mostly in wars.
The theme, title, beginning and end of your poem are fine. No nits at all.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

I wasn't aware that, that was where the saying came from. I guess we can learn something new all the time. ~ Geez.
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author comment

Hi, Geezer,
This has a quiet, thoughtful feel - very mysterious. It's as if our words, poems, and wise thoughts are only ours to borrow and eventually "fade away" to a temporary space waiting for someone else who needs to hear them. That's the way your poem makes me feel. I really like the way you referenced the sun both at the beginning and end of the poem. Very nice.
Thank you!
L

to my memory. If you ask me to recite something I've written, though it be one of my own works, I cannot remember it other than a vague outline of what it was about. Maybe not even that. Most of my life, I have suffered from a disorder that allows me to instantly remember a book or something I've read, within a few pages or lines, yet I cannot remember the words or the theme until I see it. It affects me in strange ways. Imagine, seeing something you wrote yesterday, and you can't remember it? Until of course, you see the words in print, but it goes like this: I remember... and I do not remember the next line, until I see it; or maybe I can deduce it from the context of the sentence. It is a strange curse, like an echo, that you soon tire of. For this reason, I do not keep books after I have read them; unless they are purely for keepsakes. Learning something new is sometimes also a problem, sometimes, I get it right away, other times, I have to repeat it over and over and over again to get it; and it may suddenly be crystal clear on how to get somewhere after about a hundred times, and then the next time... It's like having intermittent Alzheimer's! If I have explained this before, please forgive me. LoL
~ Geez.
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author comment

perfect.
xxxx

Reflecting on words spoken, what happened after, especially words that made an impact.

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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Duplicate entry ‘cause of my big fingers...

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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You're not a proctologist!

Comments and critique are vital to this site!
Even if you just say: I liked this story or your spelling
of a word is wrong, take the time to write a line or two
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author comment

you were touched by this one. Yes, we all hope that we are not forgotten. ~ Geez.
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Comments and critique are vital to this site!
Even if you just say: I liked this story or your spelling
of a word is wrong, take the time to write a line or two
and comment. Your fellow poets will thank you!
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author comment
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