Two poets. Much in common. Much that's different.
One writes. The other replies or ignores and writes something completely different.
And so it goes until it stops.
A Thing to be Unwelcome (TH)
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Can I just sit alone watching them for just a moment without their feeling my unflinching gaze a thing to be unwelcome?
No birds sing now in this landscape void of life, of love, of light. Nests dismantled, the tabernacle destroyed. Every voice lifted into one higher being straight from the page to the hand that wrote the book.
Not a single tear left to shed on that final day in the end as the fog becomes night & our sun’s tiring iris decides to close one more time. The lonely god no longer without all the souls required for sweet nirvana. So many spent their lives worshipping what couldn’t be seen only to discover in this new life upon opening eyes after rebirth our destiny all along was to be picked back up as the many shards of a broken god & put back in place.
A good heart betrays when their love goes cold under the ground and they wish for the sound of angels' wings that no longer beat We disguise visitations for rusty old chains that bind our feet and keep us Earthbound with only broken fences left to mend Not a single cloud to spare the blue sky Not a single tear to shed away the grief hoping for all that is pure to heal so we can take flight from daytime to the night
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