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Then Give Back

When that song is sung out of me
And that breath is gone from me
When those closing eyes are mine
And that silence fills my mouth
Then I will give myself back

When the turning wheel is staid
And the longest road is walked
When gravity is satisfied completely
And all my poetry has been written
Then I will give myself back

I will give myself back
To the ground
To the soil
I'll lay myself down
Give myself back to the earth
From where I came

When the flower's head is closing for the night
And the worms return below the surface
When the tune I've been humming is finished
And the daydream of all I've known is broken
Then I will give myself back

When the trivial moments are beyond mundane
And the steady hand-hold no longer offered
When the night is a bruised black and star-less
And every wish is washed clean away
Then I will give myself back

And in giving back all I've ever had
I hope to fuel another chance for life
I will give myself back
To the ground
To the soil
I'll lay myself down
Give myself to the ground
From where I came

The sparkle of blue eyes must end somewhere
And I hope that place is somewhere with you
This constant wash of love will never end
No matter the endless stillness in my heart
Once it's given back...


◄ One of These Years

Sailing on Firewater ►


<Deleted User> (7164)

Tue 15th Dec 2009 21:49

I think this is a beauty.


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jane wilcock

Tue 15th Dec 2009 21:17

I really like this, it reminds me of the end of Aragorn in Lord of the Rings(described by Tolkein in the notes at the end)

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Ann Foxglove

Tue 15th Dec 2009 20:06

So glad you are getting some useful and positive feedback! I think (I am new too!) that this is a very good site for that! xx

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Dave Bradley

Tue 15th Dec 2009 18:05

You should probably listen to Cynthia, Thomas, but I couldn't help (even as a believer in life after death) enjoying the whole thing. Reminded me a little bit of Blood Sweat and Tears "And when I die"

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 15th Dec 2009 17:56

A very embracing poem. I like the 'choral' repetition.

But I do think it is too long. I was won over, and then a bit let down. Sometimes lovely lines, whole verses, just have to wait for another poem. They may scream blue murder, but the writer is the boss who must be ruthless against 'stuffing'.

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