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wings cut
Wings cut, flesh torn, eyes burned and blind
Heart so weary borne upon a life, some say, unkind.
Time will come and go, knowledge gained or lost;
Rivers change their flow; summers die in frost
All that’s proud and full of fury in each person’s story
Sunk beneath the fathoms of depressions veil.
We humans sought to reawaken, but did fail.
I will write a word or two about a pear that clings
Frosty morning air anew, as summer wanes.
When autumn sings I shall turn the other cheek,
Jot some mental notes and such then turn to sneak a peek,
Were it not for noise, I would not glance back
Nor halt to hear the frantic fray; to enter then this play.
Character cast, twice remove; something by each side to prove.
Lyrically lay with lantern lit, composing each and all of it
In metaphoric style; lost of wit, but never wile;
I fracture to repeat, upturned sockets sweet.
Sumptuous undertaking of loved and all beloved;
Splendor in the Eye for taking all whom I may meet.
Hoping to move and by them all be moved.
No trouble here, noble poets burning.
Turn back to the fires you're tending.
And all that you’re unlearning.
Pass up the gauntlet to those returning
No more yearning; no more ending.
Satisfied to write the wilting flowers praise;
Documenting endlessly, natures endless days.
Casual observer thus inclined
To take up simple pen - of simple mind;
Talk of flowers and butterflies flying
Then maybe the flutter of wings
Will drown the sound of dying
Each voice sings..
Copyright ©
Vernon Witmer
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