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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2214041
Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #2214041
A young woman, touched by the divine, sits alone by the sea and calls to her maker.
Clarice sees the Sea,
breathes its dreams,
soaks in its mists
by a foggy rock.
When all the world’s compasses
begin to list to her true north,
Clarice will speak in tongues,
and name the Suns, in legion.
Glory will be to the one who is not named,
and who was the maker of her mind.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2214041