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Those shadows


what difference do i make in God's fascinating plan...
playing with stars
milking away the years
if I am anything,
what am I?

Not a speck in the tide of time
not a spark in the abyss of hallow skies,
galaxies that inhabit the universe

what difference does it make to be left cold
life or dead?
to disintegrate into the soil
and become one with elements that fathered me...

if my nest grew chilled
and my arms hold themselves
in eerie silence
as I laugh in agony
at the mass ice age that flames around

...what difference do I make in God's fascinating plan?

and who cares if not
the shadows
that accompany me
in this life
bred without our consent
...their eyes flickering
as tears fly and shine
magic wonders
reflecting a reality that we cherish
and dream
in surreal hope
of a life that outlives
the morge

Shadows smile or cry,
they are real
as they speak my heart
and long for my arms
your arms,
you,
...whom I don't know
though

I wish to hold

what difference would all this make in God's fascinating plan?

Ray de Bono
22.04.08


Listen to the music that inspired it... click here : http://www.radioblogclub.com/open/151767/mozart/Sonate_de_Mozart_02

Comments

Giselle said…
This is really good! well done and keep it up! I like it. It is very deep. Maybe one day you'll get an answer to your questions
Giselle

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Moody Days

I Wonder

When it is my turn to die,
Will I ponder on my days afar?
Will I yearn for your arms and cry?

When it is my turn to die,
Will I despair in a lonely chill?
Will I hold your hands in mine?

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Will I close my eyes and sigh?
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Another mask, anyone?

POEM Our precious soil,betrays our innocence

How many more
Must perish
Souring over our barren land?
Undeserving of so precious
Blood
We are!
Of so graceful
Creatures

...they adorn our skies
and cry their last desperate
sorrows
for the bigotry of its inhabitants
and their bizarre gods
of gore and limestone
and euro
orgies
of smoky, petrified
incense
as they kneel in front
of HE
whom they claim
to adore.

How many more
Must perish
Souring over our barren land?

As the exchequer squambles over another excuse
With his peers
He jokes over how great he is
In his infinite wisdom
And his children look for
A morrow where feathers are
Nothing but Exhibits in classroom books
Hailing from days gone by...

And deep within each soil granule
So miniscule, insignificant
Lies the blood of them...

The souring angels,
Up above...



Ray de Bono
9th March 2010
He/she who wants to understand, let him/her understand... ..................................................................
Written upon reading: http://w…