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Where we are born

Missing image
Spirit sleeps among the pillars passed
between dawns.

Unable to hear or feel the hues burnish messages
where only senses know
the shades predictable.

Combed in sanguine surges
from snacking upon some poignant candy
offered by fate's bakery,
one arises in such immense longing
for understanding the dark side of the moon,
as felt deep within
by a need to look at the prism auras
which silhouette each life force
and natural creation.

It opens our reality
to hidden worlds,
opulent in extremities of symbolic tones
forming a symphony of rainbow notes,
coloring our minds
with new inclinations.

Wandering a forest of metaphors,
magic gazes at us,
beckoning to play in the fields of shimmering veils
having truths to shine
into our black and white
mental scrapbooks of conviction.

A contest entry

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Comments


  • Ryno
    July 9, 2007
    Edit | Reply
    "mental scrapbooks of conviction" this last line was so powerfully phrased... moving word play and an interesting, enjoyable poem. The images reflect very well on the picture and this was a strong write. Awesome job and thanks for the entry.


    Ryan


  • Desire gold member
    July 5, 2007

    Edit | Reply

    Magnificent!

    Oy!- Love the images You bring forth and the
    words: forest of metaphors
    Beautifully illustrated and takes the reader on a Journey
    Loved it!

    Best wishes to You in the contest!
    Many blessings too
    and my Love~ Desire~*~


    • penman gold member
      July 5, 2007
      Edit | Reply
      Thank you precious for such great words.