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"waylaying" poems
1581 The farthest Thunder that I heard Was nearer than the Sky And rumbles still, though torrid Noons Have lain their missiles by— The Lightning that preceded it Struck no one but myself— But I would not exchange the Bolt For all the rest of Life— Indebtedness to Oxygen The Happy may repay, But not the obligation To Electricity— It founds the Homes and decks the Days And every clamor bright Is but the gleam concomitant Of that waylaying Light— The Thought is quiet as a Flake— A Crash without a Sound, How Life’s reverberation Its Explanation found—
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The farthest Thunder that I heard
1296 Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest Of the thefts of Time— There Marauds a sorer Robber, Silence—is his name— No Assault, nor any Menace Doth betoken him. But from Life’s consummate Cluster— He supplants the Balm.
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Death’s Waylaying not the sharpest
Down I fall Into the Deep Deep Deep Of restlessness. In vain I shall Try to encapsulate you! To bind you with word Or phrase And keep thee Until the end of Days. Vainly I will try To plant you Deep Down Within this Restorative Earth. Untended These thoughts’ They grow. Blooming spectacularly Into Hopes Dreams Intentions So deep Down Down Down I shall Fall        Into this              Soil, The root of It All.                       Passions     Boil        Waylaying my spirit          With turmoil . I shall watch you Grow Grow Grow And I Shall Rest On Your Blossoms. The shade of your Great leaves Will             Cover                        Me
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Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Blossoms
In dangerous times, in luscious climes, the seed of war does grow. It's hard to see by you or me, but God, creator, knows. Hate, the devil, lurks in bruises, wounds and irks, hidden by our lies that's how his poison works. The breeze of change will blow some of the good will go and in their stead will rise the ones that we despise. They come on ships of doom moving like a broom they sweep away the peace countries losing lease. The winds of war now jail! A teeming, waylaying gale! The cries of anguish hush... The innocent turned to mush. In the wake of strife The land has seldom life Right at love's dear core There is an open door; Out from it come the healers so too the double-dealers. They fix what has been broken ***** a world unspoken. The peaceful times now reign, rain to wash the pain. In peace, what do we gain? Naught but war refrain...
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Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
The Winds Of War...