the morning’s tears sparkle like diamonds
personal meaning, a personal choice…
the sweat of strength on verdant fields
lightening punching through thunder
a swan passes in white glories
the stamp of feet makes my tongue withdraw
there are no words…
trembling, doors slamming
grey moon above
drips into sacred retreat
midnight blacks out
running down the street
rain gently pats the roof
hiding in my living room while the wind is howling
there are no words…
force and focus,
as if it was raining,
winds turn upon the clouded lake
too slow, too fast:
all I have found is changing words
hiding in my living room
while the wind is howling...
all I have found is changing words
freeway, freeware, free life
melting into a murky blue
I must have flown
this ancient hawk cannot differentiate between the blossoms...
in masks we spread for the stars
wash away the dancing, fertile green
peer out from the Victorian permafrost
mourning sun
an old September morning
hiding in my living room
tears sparkle like diamonds
there are no words.
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