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Literature Text
Whisper
in the valley -
No voice
you have
ever heard -
a song
without
words
that only
the gods
would
understand,
carried
on the wind
and hidden
in the trees -
A rustling
there...
An end
and
a beginning
to the
familiar
and the
enduring:
"You will
never be
where
I am..."
For Nature
has a
voice
all its own -
a prayer
to the
skies...
A sweet hymn
to
the ages.
in the valley -
No voice
you have
ever heard -
a song
without
words
that only
the gods
would
understand,
carried
on the wind
and hidden
in the trees -
A rustling
there...
An end
and
a beginning
to the
familiar
and the
enduring:
"You will
never be
where
I am..."
For Nature
has a
voice
all its own -
a prayer
to the
skies...
A sweet hymn
to
the ages.
Literature
Every day in summer
Every day begins my walk in front of our house
Every day I go over the railway crossing out to the fields.
Every day I see about the land that lies in front of me.
Every day I see cyclists, joggers and other walkers.
Every day I see the tractors and combine harvesters which work on the fields.
Every day I see the first sprout of a plant.
Every day I see hundreds of plants grow
And then rot.
Every day I hear the crackle of electricity cables high above my head.
Every day I look up at the sky and see the blue of the sky and the bright white of the fleecy clouds.
Every day I see the wildflowers at the edge of the path that I walk. They
Literature
Clairvoyant
My eyes are always open. From the rise of dawn to the moon's reign in the night and even in my dreams, I see.
My sight shifts, swirls of clarity come and go. Sometimes it's all tinged blue around the edges like I'm underwater and I can stay down for hours without having to breathe. It can be surreal, seeing that way. A waking dream that captures my vision, so entrancing I can't look away.
Sometimes it flashes; a glint of a knife, a smile, a scream. Bits and shards of pictures- puzzle pieces giving them selves to me but some mysteries are better left unsolved.
It's a burden and a safe guard with an ocean-tide mood ruled by something not a
Literature
Cloudless
I've seen a blind woman
Growing cold outside,
An older image of
Our younger selves.
She wears a shard of mirror
And a broken sword
Screaming "Look at yourself!"
She is the scales; she is the statue,
She is what we should have always been,
But she has long since been replaced by greed.
This eternal rain of dust has fallen
Down upon the scales,
And they're broken,
Rusted, and brown...
Falling down
What gives you the right to
Take life away?
In the dawning of our darkest hour,
Who says what's right?
What gives us the right to
Take life away?
While these images are cutting through
A cloudless September sky.
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