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When the Muse Hit Me
My poems that come to me when they feel like being written.
The Wanderer Filled with wonder he looks on He watches the slowly approaching dawn What a sight to see he thinks He brings his canteen to his lips and drinks Packs up his camp and moves on In a matter of minutes, he’s gone |
My Angel of Light Black wings flutter in flight Feathers float to the ground shinning with obsidian delight Black feathers working together to lift their lord Petal soft lids open to reveal silver orbs Orbs whose depths know no bounds Casting a light on a world sealed by darkness makes no sound As the light takes hold the world resounds with mirth Delicate hands with nimble fingers reach out with warmth A warmth that had never been felt for the darkness allowed only cold As the world stirred to wakefulness he turned and smiled bold |
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