Getting to Know
You
I see simplictiy,
empty souls,
ovoid smears,
four limbs,
a trunk.
I hear sounds,
some slurring speech,
no depth...
eager anticipation towards grasping
truths,
so slow in revelation.
I see a face, a person,
a glimmer of light,
speckled in the souls of the heart,
some crinkles,
a blooming mold.
I hear some life,
some joy, some fear,
a being shedding caution,
an individual born,
distinct amongst the crowd.
Poems by Cindy 1998
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Words
Traced by lead or ink
an ancient, ageless sculptor,
silently carves the oblivious
stone;
deposits laid on each guild member.
Molded on valleys of treeless form,
lenses stroked with beautiful
poses,
and peals from drums a melodic
song,
to nestle in rhythmic red chambers.
So be ye creation,
or be ye creator,
to abscond is futility
beyond its chiseling command.
Poem by Cindy 1998
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