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Deterioration

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The morning,
The sun over one small isle of green land



—smells of freshly-disturbed ground:



roots and rot—
Wax and feathers,

A father’s loving, protective words



—heard but not heeded—






Wasted.

High noon,
The roll of the deep blue, oppressing horizon



—roaring a challenge to young ears,



low, but defined, dignified—
Brilliance and warmth,

Arms spread wide, light-bringing angel



—craving the heavens,



unyielding in pursuit—







Falling.




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bookwormdg said...
May 16, 2009 at 7:28 pm:
I love Greek mythology! It rocks! i love your style of writing. And you're very well written. GREAT job! :)

P.S.: I also like the pic. good choice. I'm a California girl, hence why i like the beach pic.
 
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