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The Volunteer Creature

The perfect colour

Shade grey rising

From a tired hill

In the form of smoke.

 

Walking for the sake

Of some frail destination

With echoes of graves and lovers

Covering the paces.

 

Every breath dreaming of relevance

Until a silk of stillness

And strangle of flowers

Beats the path finished.

 

A feint light forms

The brief, naked image

Of the creature in all of us

That wants to be alive.

◄ The Burning Of The Sting

Excerpt from novel. ►

Comments

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Noetic-fret!

Tue 19th Jul 2011 20:07

Aw! The last stanza is a tearjerker.

Brilliant yet again. I am not going to post any more comments for now. Your work has blown me over. And i don't want to seem an obsessive about your work but fekk me Kealan, you got some real talent.

Stay well

Mike

xxx

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