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The raven chick, with startled eyes,
Fell from its nest on high.
Its frail wings, useless lie,
But a croak its throat brings nigh.

Immovable, fully trusting,
Its cloaked guardians, who soar nearby,
From every stranger, guarding,
Though I mean no danger, I don’t pry.

Soon the flock has formed,
A live tornado round the red-eyed fleck.
Lifted from its mossy perch, caressed,
Until I, who meant no danger, could see but a speck.

Loads of lessons to be learnt,
As I gazed at the sky which brilliantly burnt.
Just penned my passion for feathery creatures, Birds. Nothing like a poem on something you love, while gazing at the lovely sky above!!!
...
lighting n
violent storm in
the dark night
wrapped my
existence
~~~
in the fearful
roaring of   clouds
no one is there to hear
the mourning of  
my wounded soul
~~~
drowning  n
surfing on the
waves of  destiny
my life has became
like a caravan  
of  remembrance

+++
*(c)  deovrat-31.03.2018
"How my mind always needs to wander,
Looking for a new and grander view,
Having to quench my thirst with the worlds passions,
I turn to nature to light my creativity,
Yet, you have a spark that makes it catch as well,
You can make me ponder,
All the worlds endless wonder.
Its you that always seems to amaze,
And you that turns my heart ablaze."
My words has been reading by the def person
My words are noticed by that blind person
My voice has been shut down for myself pleasure
lost , still searching for myself
But all I can find is a black mirror reflecting all of my lies
I did cross the river by hiding from the tik of the time
I did trust in the rage to get me out of myself cage , in the first seconds I did find out that my cage is just a memory of revenge there's no need to get out of it
the demon who's in my room corner is whispering
Telling me things I admire about the night
He's Trying to turn my flame to the fire
He's trying to get a chance to get the same reference
His whisper is getting louder
He's waiting for me to talk
So he can see the ignite program
Lost
Found
Same as his main road
As long as my silent will keep his blind
i will keep my misery for my Mystery the beauty of silence always was an art but only the blind person who can understand the beauty of it ...
she
is cold
we can feel
her winter breath
she chills our napes
with her gelid icy hand
we take to our warming hearths
to shelter from her frostiness
she has no charity nor any compassion
how baleful her season of bitterness
Raindrops forget to
drop
a drop
dropping slowly
the rain forgets to stop
stop
plop
a plop of blood in the ocean of firestorm
now death opened
like an unturned boat in the
middle of the world
to receive the last plummet of hope,
last blessing
in a humane drop from above
above
the above has
no rain for the next season
the winds are afraid to return.
Save Syria. Save humanity. Save the word 'save'.

Notice the stutter in the poem due to fear.
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