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May 2010
Unseen and yet
the phoenix rises
over head from ashes now grown cold.

Unheard and yet
the crystal fountain rushes
with jade and emeralds,
their essence sounding delicately like
a bell of golden light that rings
with laughing sounds.

Unfelt and yet
the darkness of the night
blows bottomless through the room,
a tangible presence
like the chanting prayers of monks
long since gone from this world.

Unsmelt and yet
the perfume of the flowers
we once thought of
exhale a breath
of yellow dust
that makes us weep.

Untasted and yet
the sleepless moments
we cannot run from
linger like a bitter wine
who's taste will not quite
wash away.

And here for just a second
we almost sense these things
and a shiver passes over us
and we do not know why.
Copyright June 1995 by Timothy Emil Birch
Written by
Timothy Emil Birch
634
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