Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Poem - to be an illusion/ that can help

in the night
i wake up in acceptance

no sleep
i listen to mozart

serenade in B flat
the horn

i hear it
transform the melody

the room
becomes mysterious

scale of things
big or small all the same

i sense
how we are here

stokes of
sundering lightening

of fantastic cities

or bubbles
colliding together


what a blessing
to be a illusion
that can help


Quail Meadow

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