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Click hereWords are sounds filled with meaning
Those who know them don't need language
the tone, dulcet at times
grating at times always sweet,
will tell the tale not spoken
Those harsh days
those lovely nights,
those lick the corner of your lip mornings
Turn My face to the wall afternoons
Filled with pregnant pairings
taken asunder by the hand that wrote, not wrought,
Stone tablets, graven images
Nay he meant craven images
showed the way of sulphurous scents
rotten eggs and tar of cement
be the smouldering veins deep in the earth
Some fires, ground fires, underneath fires, buried fires
smoulder and burn for eons
who tends them who sights them
May we all be there for them?
Too much to hope , too much to ask
leave and rant, looking up and sloughing the cares away