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Click hereIn each exists three—
one we wish peers to see;
one we wish colleagues to believe;
and one looking back in a mirror that is me;
the one in need of freeing liberty.
The first imbues warm touches,
smiling faces, rippling rushes,
exploding sexuality and erotic world wishes.
The second exudes intelligence,
quick thinking, deft decisions
Whilst soaring defiantly through humanities taut lynchings.
There is the one...
A frightened little animal
who knows not of the self—
ruled by emotional tolerances that leaves one circumspect.
Hot Day...Striking Light
Cold Wind...Bleeding Storm
Black Rose...Cutting Thorn
White Orchid...Nailing Cross
round peg...square hole.
When can all three become me?
I wonder...
I like this poem. This stanza is a bit of a worry:
Hot Day...Striking Light
Cold Wind...Bleeding Storm
Black Rose...Cutting Thorn
White Orchid...Nailing Cross
I have no idea where you're going with this but otherwise an interesting and complex piece.
I am going to recommend this one.