Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Poetry Year September 28

Cascade, the arc that shimmers,
bridge to heavens height,
where touches light the feet,
of messenger goddess bright.

Spectrum encompassed all the colors,
beyond the seen to ultra-sight,
which scattered by the clouded cloud,
bring fancy to fuller flight.

How many whisps of frolic,
have been fashioned by your bow,
yet lost forever the landing lay,
to which your endings flow.

I walked amidst the high grass field,
and stared towards your sky mark sealed,
wishing for once to faerie form to feel,
that mortal flesh would to flight now yield.

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