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  Feb 2019 Sharon Talbot
Valsa George
Music, Oh mysterious sprite!
Lift us to the seamless realms of delight
Your ubiquitous presence we feel;
In the hum of crickets
In the silence of the stars
In the falling cataracts
In the running streams
You are there in the lone sea breakers
And under the swift wings of the wind

Come as subtle vibes to saturate our being,
Winding your way through every sinew
Enfold us in your rapturous hold,
Raising our souls to the magic of rhapsody
      Paint intangible pictures in silence,
Creating a sensation beyond the reach of words
Let our souls savor the taste of ecstasy,
Daubing myriad hues on all ugly stains
      Land us in the sequestered pools of oases,
As the blistering sands leave burns on our souls

Oh Music! Come and fill me
Soak me from foot to crown
Like a falling drizzle
Like a caressing soft wind
Like a marauding sensation
Drown me
In the subaqueous quietude of the sea
Levitating me through ether
And lifting me up onto the borders of heaven!
Sharon Talbot Feb 2019
A prim, lavender skirt and a napkin on it,
Tells me this is serious, and I mustn’t
Rain upon it, not say what I think,
And much less what I feel.
You have found a lover
And she isn’t me,
I wish I was an eel
That could glide away
Into the primordial sea.

On second thought, it makes me
Wish that we had never met,
That I’d never looked at you and loved,
Or at least never brought you home.
It was there that it all began;
I assumed your were mine alone,
And now I am empty man.

Oh, my love,
For the first time in my life!
You did this to me,
Without knowing, charmed me
Until I was undone.
But accidents will happen;
It was only hit and run;
Such investigative fun!
Don’t tell the other one I feel this way.

On second thought let him…..
Follow me into danger
Since a gamble is good as a rest,
Or the off chance I’ll get shot.
After all, this admirer’s the best
Of a mediocre lot.

But he knows about me, I’m sure.
He’s gets so little reward,
But takes credit for what I do
And hangs upon my every word.
He listens to me in the dead of night
As you used to do.
It’s comforting that he’s not you.

-Unfinished Lament
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