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You think that you,

form clouds from fog

and paint the forests green.

You think me lost,

inside your song

as unformed harmonics

drown, within my throat

and reeds split

upon my tongue.

But you are wrong

and still I sing,

and though you say,

my life, is but a whisper

in the age of mountains,

I am here.


I am here.


© DeJ. June 2010


◄ The Dunes

Displaced ►


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Ann Foxglove

Mon 14th Jun 2010 08:47

I agree, a lovely lyrical song! x

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Andy N

Mon 14th Jun 2010 08:17

This could almost be a song, Deb.. Lovely... the repeating at the end particularly works for me..

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Dave Bradley

Sat 12th Jun 2010 21:47

Enigmatic but powerful, Deb. Yes our lives are only a whisper in the age of mountains, but .....we are here. Like it.

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