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Turn on your head
and the dance begins
think of words
toss them down on the page
feel the words in your head
for with them you can be anything
let your imagination sing
and before long
your swinging about
with all the dancing words in your head
jig move your feet
rock about.
Well that's the joy for me      True story         P@ul.
Murderous brood you chill my spine
with screeching caw and shrill,
your message mischievous and malign.
Pecking loudly on my sill.

Inside I hide in candles light,
creaking bones of this old dwelling.
Timbers voice speaks through the night,
expanding lumbers constant swelling.

Reflection caught but not quite sure,
shadows walk with weary shift.
Childrens whispers sound the lure
and through this house their voices drift.

Things go bump and rearranged,
is my mind so far away.
Torments that cannot be explained,
send me into disarray.

I try to act in normal manner,
completing in my usual way.
Although my speech is now in stammer,
I often kneel down and pray.

Outside the weather got gradually worse,
the murderous brood in disarray.
Thunderous clapping, voices its curse
but still ebony stalkers won't go away.

Feathery missiles pound from without,
the mission it seems is to gain entrance.
The message clear and without doubt,
no longer happy on the fence.

From out of the heavens a lightning strike,
the gleaming bolt and the power it shows
illumination, I have not seen the like,
outside my window a flock of burnt crows.

Shortly the sun made its presence known.
The whispering ceased, demeanor had eased.
This aged building has now lost its groan
and for the first time I am feeling quite pleased.

At last a home where I fear no more,
nothing of bother I truly can swear,
perhaps this was God who did even the score,
I wonder if this was the power of prayer?
22nd Feb 2015
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