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Michael Skinner Poem
An Angel of fierce countenance guards the Western gate
wings aflame in the dying sun
Eyes like the end of time.
Raiment the color of a thousand sunsets.
Copyright © Michael Skinner | Year Posted 2008
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Michael Skinner Poem
Morning purple as a crushed rose.
The river as calm as glass.
Quiet as sleep.
The sky and her twin, the river, run toward the horizon.
Where the river touches the sky, she blushes and the dawn comes.
Copyright © Michael Skinner | Year Posted 2007
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Michael Skinner Poem
In the end the Angel folded her wings
and let her body fall through the cold air toward cruel stone
till at last she sparks and catches flame and crashes down into a turbulent sea
hair ablaze shedding burning feathers the color of a thousand sunsets
Copyright © Michael Skinner | Year Posted 2008
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