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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Arts >> ID #1807921 |
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The conditions on the special photograph of, one, father, who has educated me stares back, bruised in black and white, etched as a god. Born into kind family who supped with him, his vision breathes his "dig" poetry en masse`. I see him on the ocean's crusty bottom, gone to the "sharks" and prey for the skeleton of dead fish. "You are known, my friend." I cry out. Once, in a willy-nilly dream I asked too much of him, knowing that the children want change breakage of light in their eyes, loved for knowing him. He did not move. He did not deny I was wrong. Pale white horse that he rides out on, give him destiny's constellations to sigh over! As the horizon's last statement, at your end that sends you to a burnt rust sunset like the one we saw together, beginning our trust blends with the coat-tailes of fine young men in dregs, I look agape, at you,dear mentor, father. 19 line count, 11 syllables a line
© Copyright 2011 Feather Duster (UN: secretvick at Writing.Com).
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