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Rated: E · Poetry · Sci-fi · #2064162
Time to repair my ship.

I am goosed-bumped with anticipation,
rushed with a yearning of a new month’s beginning.
Awesomely fixated, I bid October goodbye
and build a bridge to that which is November.
And now, with ghosts and goblins
and the discord of many witches put away,
I can assign myself to maintenance,
to the gathering of passageways skyward--
to the repair of my ship.
Ah, yes, a UFO as most would say,
a traditional silver moon
raining down from azure skies to alarm.
That is the lasting legacy of this Earth,
of all the myths and dreams of many giants,
of the metaphoric abstraction beyond middle ground.
I shall intrude, once again,
into the mass psyche of human rumor
and of fear, into the intense visions
of lore and stories passed among generations.
I will violate this place with my leaving,
thrive in the enduring wonderment
that feeds the dreams of modern man,
then spark triumphantly once more
into the vastness of space,
to steady myself home.

25 Lines
Writer’s Cramp

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2064162