A Rebirth

byDecayed Angel©

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Click Here to listen. (1 min/mp3)

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To drip of color, blood red of pride
a wave in the breeze, its striped movement
a fire, core deep, magma heat
felt in our coldest, darkest hour.


A dim light of words read of a need
building intensity, from whispers to shouts
line by line, sentence by sentence, a verse
at sunrise -- a gloaming knowledge.


A morning of sound, heartbeat of rhythm
in the sway of grasses, the wind on a reed
saxophone moaning of sunshine on brass
staccato breath, a jazz and a nation again.

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