Silver WInd Posted October 30, 2007 Report Posted October 30, 2007 This is something of a stream of concious, but personaly I rather like it. I know the title perhaps is not the best, but sense I just wrote this off the top of my head, I was not sure what to call it. I am lost within Archaic Romanticism ever the enslaved maiden I look to the stars and sister moon but they are voiceless watching the horizon a taunting void while it remains formless. There should be no end but every bird carries upon its feathered wing a new sliver of hope that slowly extinguishes. Yet there most remain something to hold on to, to keep within grasp while the silken strands slip through and drift far below to the yawning darkness. A quiver of a boy string, or a harp cord vibrating and awaiting to be strummed free pulled loose into a sweet release. Until then, the bardic songs must be stilled the mind should remain without wavering and the body filled with continuance tested and challenged never found fowl.
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