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Sound Travels
I leave by front door. Climb up, north,
beyond cardboard houses lining the route
away from the roaring city.
But, no lie, sound travels; on bridges of air,
rivers of dust, canyons delved by word and cry.
The swarming bustle echoes down centuries;
building, toil, murder, love, revolution, dying birdsong;
hate, war; the engines of humanity, channelled, set.
I walk away,...
Saturday 2nd January 2016 3:19 am
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