How can I write the music of a heart that sings? Can a man listen with the tingling of his skin? Can he feel each and every perfect resonance of a thousand violin strings perfectly played? Can a heart soar like a rocket breaking free of this care-bound planet's gravity - blaze a trail of billowing white, the purest scar cut deep in God's thin blue skin? Can it move beyond to where a billion harmonizing stars are suddenly within earshot? Can I tell what can't be told - a truth so new yet so old? |
Comments
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bah-humbug
hey john at risk of ruining my reputation as a jaded, cynical, life sucks and then you die (title of a poem) dyed in the wool, hardened, sardonic and sarcastic down and out poet, i must admit i like this.
dave -
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Hey Professor, you're not fooling anybody, we all know you're just a big softee at heart. Thanks for choosing here to let the cat out of the bag! >W<
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hi Wind,it`s uplifting to read a poem of this nature,it makes me realise that some people actually embrace the mysteries and wonders of our universe rather than fight against them although i also sense that you feel there is nothing left to write that hasn`t already been written..
Thanks for the philosophical sojourn that this poem evoked
bye
rhet
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Name that feeling?
Hey Rhet and thanks for the feedback here. 'Uplifting' I'd call a result for this one. Sometimes listening to music, or seeing great theatre or cinema or reading a great passage in a book, the hairs literally stand up on my neck and arms and my skin tingles. It's one of the best feelings there is and there's no naming it. This is my attempt. So thanks again. As for 'nothing left to write about' - you're kidding, right? >W<
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