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Poetry Magnum Opus

wind horse


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They lower my coffin into the ground, I rise carried

away by the wind horse in search of a new incarnation,

Clouds form to shape a face-the mourners distant cry's

are matched by those of a mother, I am ready to be

born, her heartbeat echoes that of the horse, she dies

giving birth. I feel the breath of the wind horse as

he takes her away. Years later I watch wild horses

shaking themselves dry and see the face of my mother

in the clouds reflected on a lake.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Surreal IS the correct word. The intro to the old TV series "Night Gallery" flashed in my head, but this a far more tempered tale than they would have had. Enjoyed it, too, like Juris.

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