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Intangible

Walking past a river there lies the ruins
In the center is a shrine of copper
The guardians are ghosts of future
Made of intangible blues, but then

before you realize that these humans sing
You only hear the sound of admission ring

Ears cannot go a day without madness
unless one hears the song of ghostly hymn
so you travel back to the copper wreck
to understand the song of admission

then looking down to your shoes
which now are made of intangible blues...

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  1. Date: 11/21/2012 10:18:00 PM

    RYAN,, Stopping by to greet you and every other soup poet, with a special thank you comment, during this wonderful Thanksgiving season. Hope you do not mind the time I am taking to express my sincere appreciation for any support you have offered during the years, or time you have been here on the soup. I am deeply thankful and extend to you my best wishes for a happy and healthy Poetic Magical Thanksgiving Day. *Always & Forever, the Poet Destroyer; -*