The Moya View
Time’s diminishments adds its own beautyin gratitude for moments that are not ours:the child tiptoes into the mother’s bedroomand silently witnesses her comb her hair,later listens to her snore, transferring to them the transient lyrics of the song of life- the lines that survive the well of nights,the rose thorns to bloom in their mouthsuntil it’s stamped in their bodies—this trapped time to live all over again.
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JONATHAN MOYA
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A beautiful reflection on how fleeting moments shape us, leaving an enduring legacy within.
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