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Post by Ivan Carswell on Nov 15, 2007 6:22:10 GMT -5
Where are the living lines, the rising dreams, rambunctious breaths of exhaled air condensing into solid themes; I’m waiting, waiting, near despair, tried for patience, tied to fears as fickle as the frigid air surrounding me.
This magus day of gravel grey and chilling damp attenuates in gentle shrouds of wispy mist, belies the heat of yestere’en, the brutal thrash of gravid sun, the dying threat and drying screams of leaves burned brown from living green.
Dawn comes slowly, washed through screens of granite skies, the glint of dew pricked sweet in points of diamond light reflects a sombre mood, the flight of night rebirths this mirthless, naked day, tho’ silenced in a chastened earth. © I.D. Carswell 2006
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