To life comes a word—
a gasp hardly heard
but remembered and cherished in the years afterward.
From death goes a bird—
a soul soaring skyward
away from the world to answer the unanswered.
The voiceless bird
does not contest the word
nor alter the emotion with which it was heard.
But both work together
in a cycle never severed
bringing joy then a peace which carries on forever.
The quiet meadow is his, cool and damp and cushioned, with trees to sleep against and moss along the rocks. Peculiar power has he over...
Simply write And write well All you see and do; Write with words Like magic spells That mesmerize and soothe. Bring forward sword And...
like dust before a flame my thoughts disintegrate what i had to say is singed smeared on the walls of my skull there is nothing now and...
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