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Another evening
I walk the road that paves the skies
Celestial scenes caress my eyes
My fingers trace the setting sun
The song of angels has just begun
My footsteps rhyme with the solemn words
The sky is strung with rainbow birds
I shake the hands of ancient oaks
With sad, old stories and paper cloaks
Winds of worlds take me on the run
And my clothes are all undone
I smoke a pipe and drink some tea
With the peaceful monks that built the sea
I hear the language of the flowers
And beasts of old throughout the hours
The hour comes; saying goodbye to light
I stroll into the endless night
Shadows tread the depths of nights
And heroes rein throughout the day
Evening, a time in which there alights
Peace and reverence for the ways
Of night and day
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This article has 37 comments.
Your love and recognition of nature and all its glory-- despite how minor the detail-- is profound. You clearly reflect just that in you writing: the images you evoke are gentle, but strong; an ethereal depth is noticeable when reading closely--so close that the poem lulls you into your crafted world; your words are carefully chosen and each specially appointed in such a suitable manner; and your train off thought never loses the reader-- as if you guide them by the hand-- up until the last stanza.
The last stanza: the final punch in your sucessful attempt in portraying your love of evening.
Very good job. I hold no negative criticism.
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Favorite Quote:
"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."<br /> "The trouble is, humans do have a knack for choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."<br /> -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone; JKRowling