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All Rights Reserved.  Copyright written material - Salley Fuller 2004/ All artwork Copyright - Bert Salley 2004
Website design:  Molly Freeman
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Poetry
Page 3
Since Aug 2004
S a l l e y  F u l l e r ' s
One Man's Heaven


Across the room, I studied his face
Trying my best not to retrace
Those lost years; it saddened me so.
But it occurred to me, he had to go.

There's no relationship between
Reality and his youthful dream.
He rarely lingered in this frame of mind,
Being content in his place, his time.

Despite him being my reason for strength,
Our relation evolved to that of arms-length.
Finally a desperate longing came,
To which he could not put a name.



The everyday sounds I took for granted
Made his world no less enchanted.
The drip of a faucet; creak of a door,
A squeaky shoe crossing the floor.

To me those noises took their toll.
To him they were whispers to his soul
Urging the rhythm be satisfied
Through the music he kept inside.

I hear my name in his deepened voice
And summon all my grace and poise.
All the waiting has been worthwhile
For now I am rewarded with his smile.
My son,

Steve,


playing guitar

with Bert

listening on
Salley Fuller's Poetry
Remember When?
As I journeyed backward in time,
Being more deliberate that I should,
My stops would only be pleasant ones
With those who had peopled my childhood.

My mode of travel, slightly out-dated,
The pages are yellowed and brittle.
An old, softbound autograph book;
I must still be seeking acquittal.

I long for those days, already spent.
In my mind's eye, all softer tones.
Families were never long distance;
We used letters and not telephones.
Rose linoleum was all the trend
And mothers still made the prom dresses.
Lightning bugs lived in mason jars, and
Grandmas made biscuits for breakfast.

Remember when a movie matinee was a quarter,
And Motel Six only cost six dollars?
When children did homework with books,
And scholarships were given to scholars?

Gently touching these written names,
I imagine courses altered now and then.
Yet, proudly showing up for all life offered.
I wonder how many are near the end?
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Other Poetry:
Daddy's Girl & Mother's Apron Strings or God's Little Girl & Struggle