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The colors of the world have been
put aside for now , seasons of hope
lay bewildered somehow , joy introduced
to sadness , frantic calls for assurance are
not being answered , the spirit of love
lies abandoned* .....
Copyright June 12 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
No agony is greater than the yoke
Men fastened round my love
Her lines they bounded with metres
Her flow they have blocked with patterns and rhymes
Her end they constrain with rules
I crave the freedom to paint her as I deem fit
She's born of my thoughts and feelings
Sorrow would be less so
If there were rules to grieving
I'm breaking her rules
the devil does not roam
these blackened rooms
his is not the voice
that booms
and screams
from stage
to wall
in joyous tongues
recounts the fall
then rise to grace
the pulse
of life
that loves
not hates
music flows
from heart to mouth
letting all the demons out
here acceptance
blooms again
and we remember
we are kin
My daughter and I go often to a small club called El Corazón (the heart) to watch the alternative post-******* metal bands she loves. It's a beautiful thing to witness how these young bands and their fans treat each other with such love and respect.  After the attacks on venues in Paris and Orlando, it's not hard to imagine evil walking through the doors of this place.  From my heart to those who have lost loved ones to violence.
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