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It begins…

With the distant call of the archangel,
With the harps and lyres, their songs of old,
With the ominous flute that charms the snake.

Lulled, slowly, step by elusive step,
Into the dark and meandering tunnel
Bent to achieve light from its walls.

Now, as the flow is stalled,
The breath is held, the framework built,
Do the clock's hands fly, or remain still?

The passing clouds may yet drift onward,
As our home wanders its dreary course;
The rivers scarred her yielding face.

And still I journey onward into my tunnel,
Searching for the lyre, the flute, my archangel,
Coming ever closer...




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This article has 4 comments. Post your own!

Ariya said...
Jun. 28, 2012 at 2:04 pm:
I really like this poem it's very memorable.  I love the wording you used.
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Behind_a_Plastic_Smile said...
Apr. 2, 2012 at 5:59 pm:
AGAIN, another just amazing piece. your diction is amazing and you're just able to zap whatever images you want into the minds' of your readers. that is a skill held by only a true writer.
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xoSamanthaxo said...
Mar. 17, 2012 at 4:10 pm:
I love thiss (: your word choice is great and its beautiful how you paint with words. Wow, I am amazed. Keep writing poetry! (And sorry it took me so long to respond to your comment! Thanks!)
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loveissmiles said...
Mar. 9, 2012 at 7:33 am:
AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! And im not just saying this, I love it. Your word choice is elegant, and close to perfection. Change nothing.
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