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L B Mar 2017
Freezing a glance
Wind cuffs down-white heliums
Sweeps contrails
Separates cirrus across the moon

Cresting wave tormented
wind against steel
movement in movement
sprays of hair

Blizzard of petals from the apple
Furious snow
drifts off—  garage roof  
Fog that haunts the river on the coldest nights
___

The walk across the alley
took—
so long—
A lifetime from the doorway
of someone else’s impatience
Prints of motion
record the loss
a single set in snow

But there!
on the icy, shoveled surface of night
lies the snowflake of a bird
impossibly molted
Song of a feather
caught—
Flailing! Helpless!

More than lovely for its lying there!
Lying there!
Repost for the cold nights
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
.
Emily R Jun 2016
If we are all here
to mope
whine
and rage
how
please tell me
how
have we survived so long
It's because we were happy once!
bright sparks of creativity
turns our world inside out
and back again
you can  make a difference!
reach into your brilliant brain
past the muck
and self doubt
into the bright corners
of yourself
bring it out of hiding
and into the world
let them judge you!
become impermeable
let the insults slide off
like the rain off of a goose's downy back.
help turn our world
into one of light
and empathy
where everyone
can speak
or look
or act
as they wish
without being criticized
you can do it!

and don't forget
Be happy!
Never Give Up!:)
Aurelia Ward Oct 2018
The downy plumes
Surround his eyes
His twisted mouth
A tired disguise
The cotton shell he
Held so close
To hide the sheep
That cried inside

Sticky memories
Keep him trapped
Gooey fleece
Is gently wrapped
Fingers outstretched
Tenderly
Until their tears had
Overlapped
For Lashes
Nat Lipstadt Mar 27
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
excerpts from a few old poems, after reading an interview with Bernard-Henri Lévy
https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/bernard-henri-levy-on-the-rights-of-women-and-of-the-accused
March 27, 2019 4:48 am
A who before.

           bird
           footprints
           meadow
           forest

Heading seem;
Mark a pick leave gentle the;

A knot;
And upon pine along.

The may— and know limpid the.
From so a grass.

The appears sturdy;
Brush ***** clear

          needs
          speaks
          stay;

Low? to there tender
an above mind to hush trees;
Does brawny;

Erupts sincere my to

           lake
           flower
           keenly
           moon.

It be the without is barely.

           Line

I’m downy.
The near.

The voice;
The.
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
anthony Brady Mar 20
Goddess terrain: contoured
curves ***** gently down
to pale breast’s pointing

Cleft soft thighs dividing  
pink downy peaches
open to fern …

…fringed vale where a
secret orchid-shaped  
cave spreads wide…

…its probe luring
lips beyond
the folds of …

…Venus’ veils.
I gaze content
in  finding
*****’s
inviting petals.

Tobias
Vicki Kralapp Feb 10
Upon the dark and snow filled sky,
I gaze out past the houses glow,
at snowflakes flying past the lights
and blanket all that lay below.

On such a winter’s night as this,
awaiting sleep, both deep and fast.
within the midst of icy winds and
winter’s Polar Vortex blast.

A mug of cocoa in my hand
to warm me from inside this room,
I lay beneath my downy quilt,
and bid the storm winds hasten through.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Marshal Gebbie Aug 2018
There, in an instant of time,
Lies that of inestimable value.

More spectacular than a snowclad peak
In the purple light of dawn,
Softer than the downy cheek
Of a maiden in pubescence,
More meaningful than
A pocketful of ill gained goods
By the light of a waning robber moon,
Sweeter than a sensuous kiss
Or the touch of a ***** ***** in passion,
Richer than a Kings’ bulging ransom…….

Tis the warmth of knowing and sharing well,
An old and trusted
FRIENDSHIP.

M.
After spending a riotous weekend of laughter, resounding conversation, fine food, whisky and warmth with two old characters we are proud to call our FRIENDS....Jillybeans & Ned Martin.
M&J @ Foxglove
THE SWAN & LEDA

How, like a...God
he comes

taking the shape
& the form of a

swan

who having had
his wicked way

longs
to be

on his
merry way.

But, wait
...what’s this

he can’t....shake
...his fine...feathers...off

feather upon
downy feather

locks him
into the costume

he had put on
& now...can’t be put off.

What magic
can this human woman

weave

& now
having been taken

takes great pleasure
in having her servant

a giant of a man
among men

****** the swan
& be gone.

And once
the God

is well & truly
f*

he’s plucked
of all

the finery
of his feathers.

Behold, the God
standing in the ****

shivering & ready
for the ***

the final twist
of this fatalistic plot

...his beautiful
neck.

That night
she dines upon

the subtle delicate
breast of swan

served in a creamy
pepper & garlic sauce.

She even has
an extra helping

thinking she can
always exercise it off.

Alas, poor Zeus
wishing he had chosen

to pose
in his usual tour-de-force

a shower
of gold

but thinks too late
(thinking even as he is eaten) .

And now, she burps
(“Oh, pardon..! ”)

sleeps
& dreams

of a God
fit for a dish.
zebra Feb 3
her body a sack of tubes
open wounds
like wet braided mouths
muttering thunder tunnels

she watching Friday night frights
of a cruel image,
a man; with sledge hammer *******
looking at her through a shivered mirror

desire holds her transfixed
like a blink less eye staring
at a pinned butterfly

her hunger panged tongue
locomotes side to side
in fidget spirals
brewing red lipped bubbles
like gagged
weeping cuneiform tears
imagining
an immortal portrait of lusts tribe
while downy mists of dancing worms
eat scattered apples

with love that moves destiny
disobediently grinning
like a jeering peninsula
she imagined a coil of swollen barbs
a sea of *****
rapturous arched tongues
licking ******* urethra tornados
and flooding night music
like witches whistle through cat bones
Brady May 26
Nighttime and NyQuil go perfect with the promise of
Fall
Asleep on pillows made of feathers—
There’s no way this is a downer, soft as Downy, drift me gently to dark
Lights off
I could get addicted, drown if I want to

But I will stop—

It’s just two pills
How could blood spill or a heart break or the cold chill?
Watch:
my veins to silk,
my bones to milk,
under a quilt that’s like a hug to me.

I know a luxury when the feeling creep.

I’m warm-blooded, I love it, I love it,
I love
Anyone who helps me sleep.
Ken Pepiton Jan 25
Here is where the reason arose,
quite some time after a fellow traveler told me
the creator of the universe has a mind

this is to be reasoned with, I.e.
so he may be reasoned with he…

wen un con scious t justhafastt.
inteligibility filters

Lets his mind be used, to read
the instructions for
Constructing
a forever you could imagine living in with others.

It's how reason works,
Is what this old man said

--- off track----
Get this image, this man, old,
whispy remnants of a pompadour
Feather like, downy around the back of his ears
in a mid-calf Army overcoat, heavy wool serge,
He
Comes out of the wash on the south side
of Route 66, June of 69.

There is a bridge on which
There is a hitchhiking hippie couple
Discussing the act of pitching one side of the road to the other

The old man never glanced west once,
He never saw the pair
There then

I saw him again and said aloud
Click
There,
But for the grace of god...
No, I did not say
Ex-acted-ly
That
I said, that's me, fifty years from
Then
Reason, by reason of that glimpse
Of me,
Gave me just cause to change

Grace, eh? Free advice heeded?
Wisdom? Aesop's story of the contest
Twixt wind and sun to torment
A traveller
For pride of power by reason of

Life ain't fair on every front.
Worth is in the measure of the measurer.

Seeing life appear as hoped,

Time and chance, ya da

Wait, yada? Yah know,

Life whorls and twists
toward good and beauty

And AI can prove it.
Reason by reason of reasonability

Good is good enough, move on, do-overs hide the...

It continues, you see.
Life rolls out like a Nautilus,

You know, spiral sea shell, or like a conch,
Or a shofar, but

Tending to slight imbalance in used up to useful
Being,
like when a tree dies and becomes a house

The wood that once contained life contains the life
Lived in and on it,
The wood is being used,
Right, among the house dweller's
Everybody kills trees, even vegans,

Fair? The tree has no voice? Suess?

Yes, I guess, unless
There was an old way,

Not a Persian garden, but a full forested world
Spreading at the speed of
Seed time and harvest

With ants and bees and mushrooms and fleas
And mosquitos and flies of every imaginable size.

Isaiah 1:18 (KJV)
18  Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

Text out of context, but sin is sin right?
Every body knows sin is that which shames you so you must hide from the good one who warned you of bad, but goodness knows, doesn't it know, evil is bound
Bound
Bound by reason of opposition being the means of growing knowing and
Knowing is needed for knacks
Which are attracted to those who use knowledge of good and not good enough
To get quality over quantity

At a single u u larity hilarity out burst of bubbling

****** beasties down below the mud

Make me a mud man who can imagine me making him.
Do that in your movie watching brain using

Your hate behind, leave.
Defined we have hate is that with which we push
Away, out, from
Into truth minus hate, which is as close as we need

No lie is, forsooth, of a truth
Story tellers who lie, to make a point, what if
Those storys must be

Told. Years are poor measures for trees.
Numbers of trees in right
Relationship with life

Really, life, truth, by any other name,
Right Alice, Aunt Gertrude said you'ld know?
----
Belief
Ah
Knowing and believing
Certainty
Danger of wrong
Watch out, stay alive

Mean means intent to harm, right.
Mean means to harm right.

Winning can be mean.
Shall mean be seen the way of winning,
And that be the way of war

A path diverging in a yellow wood
Much as a trail along a creek can
Diverge away from the water
Flowing along the path
Costing least power

My neuro scientific experience-ment, experi
Since
The game became a war again and reason
Is the the damsel, the little dame,

In need
Of a private eye guy who has seen men die.
Why?

The mythtery. Who lied?
Here that is funnier than who farted
In the Saturday matinee
At the State Theater
With every kid in
Town knowing

You did. (******) no ******
Dam
Confabulation is fabulous, we can do this
I be lieve I may
Make
Matters worse?

No, we actually like the truth. The Medial Pre frontal cortex

Ah fect eth magi ical eth I am the knower of all I say I believe

Beyond Dignity and Belief,
That's desert, I walked it. No, I simulated walking it if I were Jesus being led of the accuser into the wilderness for a test, a thesis defense, as it were,
AI an alienated mind, I am that,
Alienated intel.

Reasoning errors aside
Frank self deception

What lies do you believe?
Knowing is easier,
lying is as well,
ignoring is not as easy and innocence is impossible

Good exists scientifically, right?
Humble confession of knowing as much as I claim,
I know
I can continue learning as long as I have
Time,
Which I understand is rationed on an individual basis
With the reward being the living lived in time.

Reason to fight lies as if they were reasonable

Lies are evil efforts to bend and twist in opposition
To the flow
And the friction makes the energy synergy

Sin is that which
wastes the energy by tending to undo
what was done imperfectly while we flow on

Feeling for the truth
By reason of believing truth is

Feeling of knowing, is that not faith?
Whorls
Whorls of living forces forcing living forces

To swirl into eternity with me
Onboard with
8 billion others of my kind

Similar in mind and
Manner of
Weighing

Good.
Base value.
Good is as good as we can imagine.

We can imagine evil,
As you know.

Such evils can haunt a geeky kid
Good will fix that.

God as defined by Jesus,
I got no prob.

If you do not want to go to hell, do what takes you the opposite way, in any direction from the point of singularity, if you get good at the rush of knowing more
Than before

Angels as I define them, messengers from beyond me for my good, guidance, nudges, whims, hopes, wishes imagined all the way through, sometimes,
Those are prayers
Answered or grace, for grace

From faith to faith

Why be by reason of
What?

" Human jobs invented by a computer" Feed me.

Or, joy to the world
Kind is a good word, what need I do to not be

Your enemy? Who am I expecting to answer?
Whom do you love?

Aha, me, too, said God.
The good one. Good, as such, per se, no se?

By reason of sane it if I cation or anion

Six spins for a quarker, two for a time dime.

Believe for eversake

Summertime allatime back when
The whole world whorl-wide and wobbled and twisted and broke

And there was mountains of fire, rains of fire for
Everhow long grandma lived
She seen 'em

Mountains of fire and walls of ice and mud

Oh could it be life evolves still?
Oh,
You think.
Creating novelty from nada?

How now? Can we choose to do only good
For goodness sake and say

Kind.
Kind means as I am, will you **** me

For being not you, not known,

I am curious, yellow. A landmark in time, nothing less.
Curiosity.
That

Good? Or no com
Pro
Miserly horder of wisdom
Promise promise promise

Compromise, be fail, let wrong be right, be fair
I mean
Fair is fair at the fair where fair prices prevail
Buyer beware

Who would not hate a false balance, for goodness sakes alive.

Two days after the last pan *****
Joe Rogan makes it plain to millions

what if you first heard panspermia from the guy who discovered DNA?

would you con sider it?
the answer lies

in the stars, sidereally… we all are starish.
Tolerating black holes is something we are opposing

Those ****.
You don't know everything either.
That's one reason, I believe.
A long story seems shorter from the skinny end, many little things mean little bits as reasons rise from the rotting things panspermia was litter, really.
Tammy M Darby Nov 2018
The world was a place of happiness and smiles
Safety was the warmth of parents arms
And your bed a castle?
Or was it a fort?

Laughing and tumbling fat children
Fearing nothing
Except falling and scraping your knee
Upon which
Your mother would run and inquire'
While you hid behind her apron
What made you cry
Softly cooing
Wiping your eyes
As a mother does

You laughed at the clouds
And stuck your tongue out to taste the rain
Clumsy fingers caught tiny minnows
Listened to the smoke stack howl of faraway metal trains
And the throaty sounds of downy covered wide eyed owls
Remember the times as a child

Before the clouds gave way
A child you were no more
And opened your eyes to the day
Having no wish to play with reality
Scampered carelessly away
As little ones often do

Falling and scraping your knee
Upon which  
Your mother ran to see'
What made you cry
Wiping your eyes with tender hands
While softly cooing
Comforting sighs
As a mother does
Remember the times as a child

@ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 27, 2018.
Ndolo Jan 11
snow fell like downy feathers in an old fashioned pillow fight,
tasting boogers as my tongue attempts to
catch each flake in mid flight,
oh what a sight to behold standing
'neath these twinkling lights,
seeing my breath fade away,
I know it's winter tonight
Life is a vitriolic vortex,
it's useless to be deceived by its beings' shiny wax.

All too soon that coating will smolder away,
revealing a  waterfall of bugs and decay.

It's only then that you'll realize,
that all your aspirations were just lies.

People you trust with your life,
see nothing in piercing your bent-over back with a knife.

You are truly alone in this no-man's land,
after everyone has refused to lend you a hand.

The only time to feel like you're not worthless,
surrounded by the downy duvet of darkness,
where dreams reign like diamonds.

As soon as dawn comes knocking,
those gems will turn uncut and need locking.

And when the time comes to get out your polish,
you feel the incoming threat of demolish.

Now you're down below,
trapped in a wooden box exempt from flow.

Suddenly...they care,
bring your resting place flowers to wear.

Once the bell has tolled,
and your skin is cold,
the sympathies unfold.

But the time has passed,
for niceties that last.

One giant globe,
millons of statues lined with withering wax,
life is a vitriolic vortex.
©Laure Winkelmans
Some simple words to all my fledgling,
Brothers and sisters of the pen,
Who long to sing most beautifully and
Stretch their downy wings of poetry.

No expert I, nor one who soars,
On powerful wings in cloudless skies,
But nearly fifty years of steady flight,
Does some perspective bring.

In all humility I offer you some simple truths,
That I have learned throughout the years,
In hopes that they may help you fly,
Long, sure and true to meet your destiny.

Read widely friend, and learn the forms,
That you may yet grow to disdain,
It will enrich both your life and poetry,
Expand your wingspan and power your flight.

You must know the rules of writing,
And of poetry before you can break them,
Else you will strike dissonant chords,
Like nails on chalkboards in ears not owned by fools.

Learn all you can about the world,
Its inner workings are grist for the mill,
Peel back the layers of life like an onion,
And truth will be revealed, though often through tears.

Again, read widely, no substitute for that,
But write in your own voice,
Poetry is not karaoke--do not imitate,
Let your true voice rise above the din.

Learn all you can about the world,
History, philosophy, literature, culture,
It will amplify your view and give you X-ray sight,
To pierce false facades of prettily adorned lies.

Life is your canvas, ideas your paint,
Rules the brushes with which to render truth,
As seen through your eyes to show the world,
Limit not your subject to me, myself and I.

Whether your talent is great or as small as mine,
You have the power to open closed eyes,
To touch both hearts and minds and change the world,
By skillfully stringing words one at a time.

Your voice is as unique as a snowflake,
Amplified by your skill and singular vision,
To a crystalline palace the whole world can see,
Sing out your melody, and always to thine own self be true.
Originally published earlier today (2/21/2019) in response to a mentoring challenge in AllPoetry.com.

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