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Martina Barnard Poem
Tell me, O Priestess, your prophesies -
The things that are to be.
The wars, the death and the disease
Tell all of it to me.
The wisdom of the sages -
Their words crash against my ears
A cacophony of Ages -
Patriarchal all these years.
Throw me, O Priestess, your pearls -
The rays of light that yet may gleam -
The life those rays will then unfurl;
Take me to different dream.
Copyright © Martina Barnard | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Martina Barnard Poem
This isolation
is not in vain.
By contemplation
I become sane.
My hermitage -
research and reflect;
Mirrors the image
of great architects.
From Plato to Poe,
From Tolstoy to Twain -
I'm beginning to grow,
My strength to regain.
And to rise from the flames-
shining again brilliant.
Calling stars by their names -
I'm free and resilient.
Copyright © Martina Barnard | Year Posted 2018
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