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Seven gods hammer thunder from above...
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Sometimes… I find myself in a sunset,
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Unfathomable houses of glass I love to engineer,
those outside I smile, whilst inside I sneer.
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I’ve had a few successful love affairs, you know; heated discussions, the sparks, the flairs.
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There is a little birdbath in the park. There is a little birdbath in my heart,
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Perse stars swing under birches bright
in the hour of Orion, when the world is hushed.
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In the carnival maze of white-red striped tents, a bit timid Millie hopped and giggled,
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Tattered sails on distant shores, ...they drift...
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Do the eyes see the colors of spring
or swallow them as shades of ice?
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Black polished nails tear satin, alley cats purr and ooze lust
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-- This is a double sonnet in the making, please do not comment unless you are Pamela--
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As with "Celestial Charade" this is somewhat experimental and is not to be considered as traditional poetry with a certain meaning. The tit
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Crowded May mist...
sparkling mirror lights
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Watch me as I scatter,
thousand agate pettals upon still waters,
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I am glad we dropped the masquerade,
let the manners slip and strip.
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Traces of butterfly wings
and silver spider threads
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Words drop into my soul,
deladon murmurs, promises of bliss.
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I will break the silence.
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Whispers on my lilac walls slide like satin sheets
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Do you think of storms, beneath your chest, when embroidered stars depict your name?
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Rise with velvet tides upon Meridian cliffs along the moon’s kiss
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All right, don't touch me. I'm neurotic and sick, when you want to have your way with my soul.
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Behold!
Mist of violet veils
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Listen closely as Zephyr plays the harp,
solar strings from the daily knit web
by DayDreamMuse
34 lines, 3 comments,
on May 29 9:47 AM 2008
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Mortal wound from galactic spear
adorns Earth’s breast plate.
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Behold the majesty of Mother's sprite
resurrection's pulse beneath sacred wreath.
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Weave, weave, weave...
from the moment sun burns night
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Primrose breath soaks the air,
veiled caress on worn skin.
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I beseach you; can you see me,
the forgotten blank spot of porcelain,
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Rustling clouds of verdant mists
slide and twirl upon argent boles
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Above the world, embraced in heights,
sheltered on an isle of spells,
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Do you really want to close that door
and let it be, what was before?
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