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Click herewhen you play in the wind,
dance on the strains
that stretch My being.
darkness rising,
from the bowels of Me.
does the wind keen and know of thee
was it the sounds of your cries that echoed in My mind
woke Me as the whisper
of rain against the hot earth
slowly soaking.
waking and calling up
demons inside
uh, maybe My fears are loose
or you are in Me.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems.
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