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Quatrain Imagination Poems | Quatrain Poems About Imagination

These Quatrain Imagination poems are examples of Quatrain poems about Imagination. These are the best examples of Quatrain Imagination poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Heritage

The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.


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SELF-GRATIFICATION IS THE FRIUT OF ONE'S LOVE

Self-gratification is the fruit of one's love,
making the artist's delighted face glow...
when every vision has been achieved,
and each intention joyfully revealed.


He will envision the shape and colors,
then transfer those images to canvas;
and with the gentles strokes of his brush...
real faces will appear and suddenly blush.


Thinker and dreamer, let passion and imagination flow,
don't be distracted by worries or external sounds below;
work diligently with your brush, transcending your own credibility...
but later, it would be too hilarious to scream out your insanity.


Self-gratification is the fruit of one's love...
that enduring, timeless legacy hard to ignore;
when others show admiration, you'll be so pleased
and motivated to add more laurels to your prestige.     


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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She Danced

The flowers danced within the breeze
The music box dancer danced with ease
She danced and danced within his heart
For he loved her from the very start


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The Lonely Poet

Paste on your passion smile
Crisp all your words
as you settle yourself 
to be self-consumed, heard
Whisper sweet nothings
which only you know
Don't stop the banter,
the words or the flow
You've reached the summit
of the loneliest point
You're king of the vacancy
best in the joint
Write all your poems
on the back of your hand
and read them at supper
of cream pie and sand
Your siblings will stand up
and whisper applause
You've felt all emotion
and ridden all stars
They bid you good-bye
for you're out of their league
and to think you just wanted
to be heard, succeed...


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Fireside Conversation

Unravel your ego
sit down for a spell
Let the cool green glass
of deception dispel
Wind all your hair 
'round the wheel and dissolve
Tell me your story
and we'll be involved
You will be captain
and I your first mate
in the skies of forgiveness
pop bubbles of hate
We'll write out our names
with invisible ink
and laugh 'till we hadn't 
a thought left to think
Sipping hot cocoa
'round fires of trust
we'll bandage depression
with cider and rust
and blow concentration
'till wishes ensue
and glisten in glass 
like reflections of you


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My Sister Is An Alien!

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

Her mind control crying
Gets her anything she wants
I say "That's not fair!"
But she just looks at me and taunts

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

It's just a disguise
I'm on to her
Is she scaly
Or covered in fur

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

She's spying on us
They 're ready to invade
So don't just be frightened
Be very afraid!

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!


She knows I'm on to her
She's calling for friends
So run for your life
And hide till it ends


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In My Vibrant Dream

*Past silver groves of willows weeping near a crystal stream, I move with an excitement flowing in my vibrant dream. Those colors that I take for granted in the concrete world shine brilliantly like buds of roses that have come unfurled. Ahead there is a field of daisies - wild yellow in bloom. I’m feeling golden; such enchantment whisks away all gloom. Atop a hill as bright a green as Ireland’s emerald isle - as day’s last rays of sun shine down - is where I’ll stay a while. Inside my dream appears white parchment; in my hand a quill! Across the sky there splashes splendor; all the earth grows still. A white swan’s feather now dips into ink a cobalt blue. As sky bursts crimson, I am painting all this dream for you! *Past silver groves of willows weeping is a line I borrowed from Heather Ober's "Into the Gloaming" Written by Andrea Dietrich For Richard Lamoureux's Pick a Line Any Line Poetry Contest


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Lovers Utopia

Magical crescent moon
Shining on the path below
Lighting the way for lovers
Together as they stroll

Exploring the enchantment
Of the animals and the trees
Finding their own Utopia
Beneath natures canopy

Together they may hear
A love birds sweet melody
As the crickets and a bullfrog
Seem to join in harmony

Sparkling stars and dewdrops
Fireflies dance about merrily
As winds song within the leaves
Plays a lovers symphony

The smell of jasmine in the air
Rose and chamomile so sweet
With just a soft hint of patchouli
A lovers perfume as they meet

The mystery and excitement
Passionate kisses, perfect date
These two lovers souls connect 
In this mesmerizing place 




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Fancy's Flight

A lass named Fancy found herself forlorn, for in her world, the hues like gray and brown prevailed, so Fancy wanted to adorn herself with colors: boredom weighed her down! Her people shunned bright objects and deplored the colors’ burst of rainbows in their sky. However, such rare arches she adored, so Fancy wished for wings that she might fly. . . She sat and pondered; then a feathered quill came drifting down; she wrote, and poetry sprang forth! With joy, her heart began to fill as imagery replaced monotony! Though Fancy wore no wings, she FELT them there; She realized no longer would she thirst for beauty, for her words soared through the air. That flight of fancy came with colors’ burst! Written 5/19/14 by Andrea Dietrich for the Imagination Contest of Dave Wood


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The Owl and the PusyCat Sail

Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.

The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.

Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.



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My Little Box

Sometimes, when I am alone
I go inside myself
and I get a little box
I keep upon a shelf.

My box is filled with memories,
sweet days that I once knew.
One of my greatest treasures
is the memory of you.

Time has begun to fade it
and has bent the corners in
yet when I gaze upon it,
it comes alive again.

I let it take me over
I ride it like a wave
feeling every inch of love
you once, so sweetly gave.

It fills my soul with pleasure
and helps me get away
from all the tribulations
that I must face each day.

Yet it was not always beautiful,
this memory I hold.
It use to only give me pain
and leave me feeling cold.

But so much time has passed away
and the pain has took its' leave
so now I may finally
enjoy instead of grieve.

Once it has embraced me
and filled me with its' wealth
I put it gently in my box
and place it on the shelf.

I'll always keep this precious jewel
with tender, loving care
so that when I need it,
it will be waiting there.


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My Poetic Gun

I’m a poetic gun;
Shells of great caliber.
I measure each poem,
With my trusty caliper.

I load my own rounds,
Thoughts are the primer.
The powder’s my inspiration;
I’m a quick draw rhymer. 

With my cylinder loaded,
I’m ready to take aim.
Shooting poems into existence,
Into life’s open range.

In the heart of the prairie,
An outlaw poetic spree begun.
Shooting rounds onto the page,
From my poetic gun.


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Raindrops Fall

Raindrops now escape the clouds
and downwards they do fly.
Earthbound now their journey starts,
set free from blackened sky.

Let loose they dance upon the ground
and skip as if at play,
a melody they seem to hum,
music, natures way.

Into rivers, brooks and streams
each raindrop heads like home,
and over waterfalls they rush,
into oceans seek to roam.

They call to clouds for brethren rain
to fall and learn to fly,
to start a journey homeward bound,
and escape their blackened sky.


For PD's contest 'Best rain poem'
8th place


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Watching Clouds a Swap Quatrain

Where I once sat, another dreams
Of life and all its crazy schemes;
Some drifting clouds to wonder at -
Another dreams where I once sat.

Still living there, that child in me,
A barefoot boy and fancy free
Whose secrets he will always share,
That child in me, still living there.

To distant shores, on ships I sailed
Where pirates told their magic tales
Of treasure chests and ancient lore,
On ships I sailed to distant shores.

Now watching clouds another boy
Is captain of his fleet deployed;
Imagination's gift endows
Another boy now watching clouds.


Feb. 22, 2014


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A Dark Tale

I laugh as I think of it now, the dire warnings of hell
Nothing could scare me it didn’t matter, on this teaching I never did dwell.
I wondered why one dark night, again begging for sleep.
No fear of death of dying no foolish promises to keep.

It was then I found the answer as I slipped down through the floor
Could this be a dream or am I now no more.
Has death come upon me, I feel the air exude from my chest
Through eons of time yet seconds, maybe days or years at best.

Before me an evil thing but there are no brimstone and flames
“Now we will see this hell you mocked and you will know my name.
You never flinched about the hell threat but you are now here
Not only that I am your father and now you will know real fear.”

He breathed in deep; my skin scorched, it left my body in one piece
The agonies, I must be dead my skin floating in front just like a fleece
My muscles sinews and skeleton were all that I now had
“I thought you were my father I screamed you can’t treat me this bad.”

A thousand legions of devils all came round mocking me
Each breath they turned my way seemed to rip parts off of me
“You will learn to master them but until then you have to pay
You start at the bottom in this work.” then the hounds of hell did bay.

“To inflict the tortures required to give me the satisfaction
You must first suffer them all, that is my attraction.
When you have suffered them all you will know what to do
My work will be in your hands this is my legacy to you.”

“But how can you be my father?” I screamed as the hell hounds tore at me
“My mother was the sweetest woman on earth and all around could see.”
“Ha! I am the devil why would I want a whore,
 They are already down here; it was sweetness I searched for.”

“Your mother scorned me, she did not believe in all the hellish games I play
So I showed her my powers and you are with me from this day.
You should have listened to the teachers teaching of my home called hell.”
He waved his finger at me and the screams I could not quell.

Now I wish I had listened and taken an earthly fear
It could have made a difference, I may not now be here.
I take delight in dismembering and gouging out the eyes
Flaying the skin off the ungodly, yet I do it for a prize.

One day I will rule this place then my turn will come
I’ll leave this underworld one day and do what my father has done
I’ll take a woman for my wife the sweetest there ever walked
And pass on my inheritance to the offspring that hell balked.
©~GG~23/07/2012

 


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Part of Me

There's a part of me that still lives on the water
A part of me that you can never keep
Tears fill my eyes as I dream  of the ocean
I see that island paradise in my sleep

My fishing boat lies sleeping in the harbor
Anchor weighing heavy on the ocean floor
I still miss all those nights at sea
My fishing boat will sail again no more

This was the life that I had chosen
From one port to another I would roam
Never stayed long enough to be familiar
Never knew a place I could call home

Sometimes I walk along the shoreline
Listening to her song out on the sea
That's when I know that someday I'll be leaving
The song she's singing is calling me

There is something magical in a night at sea
There's a million stars hanging all around
Untold stories lying behind me
New horizons yet to be found

Now that my sailing days are over
And my life is shifting gears
I can still resurrect those memories
When I taste the salt in my tears.


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The Stuff of His Imagination

God had to exist forever
Or nothing could be
All around us is evidence
The very fact that we can see

From nothing comes nothing
Random acts didn't create man
I'm no monkey's relative
I'm part of God's plan

As I look out my window
I let my mind flow
Seeking knowledge
From the God I wish to know

Within my minds eye
I travel back in time
I pray for understanding
The face of the Divine

With logical thinking
If I go back far enough
There can be nothing from nothing
Only God can create stuff

We are the stuff of his dreams
It is through him that we are real
Our mind body and spirits
Interconnected spokes on life's wheel

What is small is big
What is big is small
There is only one hand
Who can hold it all

So I look to the heavens
I try to comprehend
Nothing is truly random
With a God that has no end




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Retired, B%$#@ing Movie Star

Where's the point?
Why go on?
I've got no support,
to face the dawn.
The brought me lust,
the got me friends.
In them I did trust,
numbers to all the men.
They got me on the cover,
of every magazine.
Cindy Crawford, move over,
they were quite a team.
Those were the good times,
they were at their best.
Now at the age of 79,
their just two old sagging breasts!
:0)


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Tomorrow

Tomorrow is a promise made that was never meant to be
Tomorrow is a dream come true that only we can see
Tomorrow is the time we plan to spread our wings and fly
If we don't take those first steps now, our dreams will pass us by.

Tomorrow is the day  when we start our lives anew
Tomorrow is the time when all the skies turn blue
Tomorrow is the reason that we hang onto our dreams
We need to start today to reach those goals it seems.

Tomorrow is a fleeting moment when our world comes all apart
Tomorrow is a passing glance as we give away our heart
Tomorrow is a triumph as we begin to touch the sky
If we keep waiting for tomorrow we should hang our heads and cry.

Tomorrow is the horizon as the sun sinks into the sea
Tomorrow is the time when all our people will be free
Tomorrow is the day when we come charging from the gate
But tomorrow never comes for those who only sit and wait.


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Little Song Bird

Little song bird in my tree
singing your sweet song for me
singing sweetly, singing clear
your song, it fills me with good cheer.

Little song bird sing your song
with all my heart I'll sing along.
A gift from God you grace the earth
there is no measure to your worth.

Little song bird, wild and free
when you leave, will you take me?
Together we could soar so high
across the endless, azure sky.

Little song bird, singing high above
your song, it fills my heart with love.
little song bird in my tree
with your song you set me free.


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BLUE ROSES AND CHOCOLATES

Blue roses and chocolates have been lying there,
untouched and unopen over three days now, 
sadly turning rejection into endless despair;
even light struggles to filter through the closed window...



My gifts aren't appreciated, or even remembered,
and I am torn apart by disbelief and tremor:
with the empitiest feeling ever contemplated;
my disappointed sweetheart expected more...



Perhaps a bracelet or necklace with dazzling diamonds,
would have made her definetely happy like any circus' clown;
if love lusts after material and insignificant things,  
it has no sentimental value in itself, only a monetary one...



Uncaring and silent, with a blank and wandering look that
disfigures the divine face I admired and worshiped always,
my embittered darling is overwhelmed with vanity, touching her neck;
sensing visions of glamour and imagining the feel of sapphires... 
 


Everything I gave her was given out of kindness,
and my blue roses and chocolates should be a gift 
of the kindest of souls offering the simplest things;
and isn't her greed more implacable than a sullen sky full of rage?      


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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Butterflies and Silver Seas

Jump into pistachio talc
and fly on mists a'sparkle
Dripping off me is butterfly dust
Stand up and you can follow
Dive off the chair you sit in
to streams filled thick with cider
Nap on webs of candied cotton
strung strong by the sugar spider
Open your eyes under water
Catch up with me high in flight
Tether your wings to the sea horse's daughter
as she swims in the moon beams at nights
Sullied clouds fall past the ocean
sleeping on silver tide's arm
Drowsy me now from this butterfly potion
sleeping in ribbons and lavender charm
Imagine the ocean alive
with flutters of wings on the tide
Strip all your preconceived notions
and watch with your eyes open wide
Glisten in green innuendos
Sparkle and shake out your wings
I'm a whisper of water, a glint of delight
taking flight on the brink of impossible things...


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THE CONTEST WINNER

I have entered many poetry contests
to display my best...an amazing number of sixty or more,
only one of my poems has won first place;
poets are like enduring athletes who fight to the very core! 
 

One big hurray goes to myself for the first win,
congratulations to the other participants
who are on the top of that list, or have been
awarded Honorable Mentions for their efforts!  


When my poem doesn't make it to the finalists's list,
I don't feel discouraged, I brazen out the doubt and try again;
even Lance Armstrong, with his skills, can't always win his race,
and the trophy must be given to someone else!


I rejoice when some of the chosen poets appear 
on the winners' list; I am happy for their accomplishment,
and into a word-restricted message's box I gladly comment
on their poetry...with the insight of an achiever!


And for those whose names never made it as previously thought,
I honestly tell you, from experience, not to be a bit discouraged...
your time will come when your enthusiasm will require a big shout;
never put the word, " Winner " to rest, write for fun and persist instead! 


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


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How to Build a Spaceship..

How to build a spaceship


A large cardboard box,
Massive amount of tape.
10 toilet paper rolls…
It’s beginning to take shape.

A creative little mind,
Crayons of every hue.
Help with little scissors,
Grandma, pass the glue.

Imagination going wild..
That’s what yields the fuel.
Our spaceship ready to depart,
Fun the only steadfast rule.


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TO SHAKESPEARE WITH ADMIRATION

He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.    


Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears, 
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!


I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!     


I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father; 
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?


He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!    


Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep; 
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!  


Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "


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ROAD TRIP

Drive across the country
Let imagination flow
Tumbleweed and flat lands
Reveal a western show

Mile markers pave the way
Across this land sublime
Wind blows through the car
On my arm sunshine

Generations of people
Spirits across the land
Occupy a history
Of faces in the sand

Deep inside our spirit
Adheres to our respect
This peaceful land of bounty
No one shall reject

Fresh cut grass lingers
The present rescinding more
Where old shacks and farms
Grasp our inner core 

Land abound with wisdom
Dust has settled down
Enjoy driving the distance
See another town


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Castaway Dreams

Warm summer breeze touching the palms
Two bodies entangled on a hidden beach
The moon enhanced by the Southern Cross
The depths of our souls within our reach

The scent of ocean, the taste of coke and rum
The sand between my toes as we walk through the night
The sight of a sailboat dancing on the water
Caribbean blue touching the sand so white

Untouched by progress, kissed by the Gods
Deserted yet so full of life it seems
I call your name and reach out for you
Tears fill my eyes for my castaway dreams.


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Still Life Imperfect

Bitten fruit in still life oils
shined by light internal
shows there is no sweet perfection
immortalized eternal
Portraits crunched, pureed and such
by hands dissolved, ungifted
wipe the paint from canvas skin
until the stains are lifted
Soak the sky with thoughts of art
Speak like a simpleton speaks
Scour the ground for a speck of emotion
to hoard in your hollows for weeks
Reconcile to read a book
Bury your heart in it's sleeve
At the moment you feel like a still life imperfect
you humbly ask and receive...


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Nosferatu

  Brambles tear my cold bare feet,
I search the wood for you,
the forest says it is complete
there's nothing I can do.

  You left a letter on my chest
as silent as a dream
you said I know you did your best
but I'm not what I seem.

branches whip
 my tear streaked face
the wind laughs through the trees,
they say at last you have a place
from which you'll never leave.

A crush of berries marks your trail
so black beneath the moon
I know I seek to no avail
why chant the ancient rune.

a comet streaks across the sky
and rain begins to fall
turn back I hear the river sigh,
you never knew at all.

I turn my face up to the stars
and shriek a dirvish howl
I've nothing but a heart of scars
and you ,oh fiend most foul!

Idon't care what you have become,
I don't  care who you 'll be 
come back,come home,
let this be done,
I cannot set you free.





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Mystic Tinklings

                   Mystic Tinklings


Mystic tinklings
	Ancient echoes from the past
Fleeting inklings
	Glimmer just beyond your grasp

Phantom footfalls
	When you know that you’re alone
Echoed choircalls
	Of a long forgotten song

Shadows slipway
	From the corners of your eye
Darkened hallways
	Hints of time passed by

Brief reflections
	Of things you did not see
Vast collections
	Of the things that used to be