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One day he’ll return with shadows
Another tenebrous path travelled
Carrying what he witnessed, as proof.
Upon his stoic face and disheveled hair
He offers, insight to pain that lingers

She’ll guide, with an air of tranquility
And with the touch of her warm hand
So he may return to his appendages
Left in her care, a guard on sacred land

His weakened back holds exhaustion
A celestial stretch moving his limbs,
Proof of his immortal strength, passion
He rests shoulders upon steal pinions.

Feathers quaver, show fine onyx wings
His flesh returns, breathing tempers
Eyes open, now the colors of heaven
While his spirit continues to reenter

No different from journeys past
Of which there are, and will always be
Travel logs full of omnipotent distance
For he protects us all, yes, willingly

The tempo of their embrace will matter
Most of all. Echos of the time they lose
Forgotten. As the hum of his battle cry
Quiets. And their love begins to soothe

Breath Of A Poetess

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The calmness I inhibit,
Not created by waves,
Of a tattered windsock.
Sounds of the flapping,
And the eventual snap,
Correcting all my doubts.
But the gentle wearing,
Of a used open flag,
As it slides about.
Caressing and whispering,
Mirth,
A moment of unnerving.
While I submit,
Into wonderment,
Of love and longevity.
The fraying, I cling to,
Wondering,
Am I enough.

Lead…

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Can’t you,
please?

I ask, however,
Begging, it seems.
Capture, my essence,
And tell them,
For me.
Express my need,
Rooted inside,
Verdant grounding.

You must show,
How going without,
suffocates.
Robs me,
Of who I am.
My Muse,
Only you know.
This trail of wildflowers,
Varied, yet pristine,
And full of desire,
Leads…

I’m left here,
muted.