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Big Ben is set free

Stone hands slide across wooden faces, With a timeless intention, Of man’s damnation, To glimpse at a movement, Searching for salvation, We stand in lashing winds, Of spoken rage, And caress the moment, Before, The wheat grain, Slips, Away, And desperate housewives, Transmute into schizophrenic princesses, Waltzing through a ballroom palace, Stone hands capture each breath, And inside glass bottles, They chime, Then fall on disciples, Time stops, Life, Dies…

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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