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Poem- WingMakers- Another

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  • wintyreeve@aol.com
    Hi Friends- I just love the poetry on the WingMakers page. I thought I would share this poem called Another . This poem has alot of facets to it but I thought
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 7, 2006
      Hi Friends-
       
      I just love the poetry on the WingMakers page. I thought I would share this poem called "Another". This poem has alot of facets to it but I thought it would also apply well to themes of being racially mixed. LOL* Or you could just go off on a tangent...
       
      Blessings, Lynn
       
       

      Another

      One skin may hide another,
      I remember this from a poem when I
      launched a fire across a field of deadness.
      At least, to me, it seemed dead.
      I felt like a liberator of life force
      renewing the blistered and dying grasses.
      Actually, more weeds than grass,
      but nonetheless, the flora had flat-lined.
      I peeled back skin with holy flame
      and brought everything to black again
      as though I called the night to descend.
      From blackness will arise a new skin
      cresting green architecture from a fertile void.

      As the flames spread their inviolable enchantment
      I saw your face spreading across my mind.
      Remember the fire we held?
      I hoped it would unfurl a new skin
      for us as well.
      Forever it will roam inside me
      invariant to all transformations and motions.
      (Einstein smiling.)

      One person may hide another,
      but behind you, love is molting a thicker skin
      than I can see through.
      No flame can touch its center.
      No eyes can browse its memory.
      I want nothing behind you in wait.
      Seconds tick away like children growing
      in between photographs.
      I will not forget you in the changes.
      Cursed with memory so fine
      I can trace your palm.
      I can inhale your sweet breath.
      I can linger in your arms' weight.
      I can hear your exquisite voice
      calibrate life with celestial precision.

      One purpose may hide another.
      I heard this as the fire died out
      to reveal the scent of the wet earth
      and growing things.
      I could feel my love decompose
      returning to the uninhabited realm
      where it belongs.
      Where all hearts belong when
      love is lost, and the code of the mute,
      coiled in fists that pound,
      reveal the wisdom of another.


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