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the forests of sun
lift their branches to the sky -
a stone fountain's tears.
Full fathom five thy father lies
of his bones are coral made
those are pearls that are his eyes
nothing of him that doth fade
but doth suffer a sea-change
into something rich and strange

Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, Scene ii

I was a blue baby.
Umbilical noose drawn so close,
a rope of blood. The starving air
never loved me.

Now my father is air,
all of them are in the graves
of the air, the transparencies.
I can only claw at the silence.

Dolmens of rain collapse
in the kitchen. Black coral rises up
out of the fridge, out of the cabinetry,
out of the thickening lung-mass.

I am ever that blue baby,
leasing breath from a sterile hand,
my hair silvered over like a frost -
my tattoos gathered like a frightened flock.

Sea-changes are coming.
My last thoughts today, that coruscate
from the obelisk of my spine, are of the woman
who slurred my atoms so carelessly.
Look to the heavenly skies above,
and follow your heart to the world of love;
Where night and day are always sure,
to lighten our moods in miraculous cure.

Follow the dreams of your desire,
don't let strangers put out the fire;
Family and friends will stay by your side,
while you enjoy this emotional ride.

Elegant movements among the clouds,
speak to the folks that gather in crowds;
To share the time we have on this earth,
each loving hour of bliss and mirth.

And when you're old and memory dims,
your mind will be filled right to the brim;
With glances of years that meant so much,
easily reached again through a sacred touch.

Saying goodbye to all you've known,
can cause frightening moments--overblown;
But grab onto those memories that rise within,
and follow the pathway--you're bound to win !
I wrote this several years ago, trying to inspire love and peace within our hearts, and encouragement to follow our dreams ! FM
Goodbyes are apt to set the record straight,
as if we've stumbled through an iron gate;
Correctly now we take the hint from above,
there's nothing left for us not even love.
the silvers of the moon
sing their song of winter,
exhilarating above the black
rock and distant trees, her
fire lights the night like a
street lamp, the shadows
thrown back, muted,
echoing the near-teary darks
of the clouds. i sit on the
window sill, look out,
breathe deep the midnight sky
built of love and winter rose.
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