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I taste the air around my lungs, reaching for divinity a lone sparrow that carries a sacred missive, in a perfect language words that spoken together stir hearts as one, bringing all to a place of knowledge immovable but traveling fathoms, only ever touching on the profound never (too much too soon) Augurs will pronounce peace to multitudes, as in the opened wings of a dove, the first scribe of truth lets one feather fall the first contact in the language of the birds was pure silence that marked the depths trilling a passage to peace

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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