Monday, November 10, 2014

Mud of soul

186

Owl did sit in silence,
rose the shine of night,
birds in chorus fervour;
thread of inner sight.

Crossroads of the psyche,
mud of Self crushed deep,
thorns of grief revealing;
called to darkest sleep.

Crocus pushed damp bud,
struggled to be born,
life did end in suicide;
Soul at last was torn.

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/11/09/wordle-186/

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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