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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Sublime by April Kelley (classic books to read .TXT) 📖

Book online «Sublime by April Kelley (classic books to read .TXT) 📖». Author April Kelley



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Salvation


Farm Boy

Staring through empty green grooves of apple trees.
Running lacey fingers through my empty pockets, money.
Showing timid smiles, embarrassment plugging minds.
Anticipating sweet tomorrows,
meaningful thoughts unsaid.
Soap box of swollen faced preachers spitting words, waking up.
School with my beloved Amelia, answers soon asked.

Bellowing out nothingness, school waiting beyond the fog.
Beneath the golden apple trees,
the steam depicting mirrored faces.
Amelia turns to me, a preacher of my heart.
Betting every cent, the money in the world can’t replace.
Unruffled smile exposed in deep secret.


Howling in sun, the dark recedes into her tainted smile.
A school of fished stars setting beyond her bloodied face,
Was it just yesterday the pie began to bake, tomorrow?
Breaking branches, snowing around me, hiding an apple tree on top of beloved.
It was not my money which could keep her alive.
Crashing down, preachers hovering over her very body, bury it he says.

The preacher turns to announce her,
Withering underground, smiling at the sky where she was lain.
Dropping momentary money on eyelids; pushing her back to sleep,
School bells ringing behind my ears, she remains with me.
The apple tree, its poor eyes demanding me of just yesterday.
Not yet ready for the tomorrow, the fall down


Swift movement I pack up my bags and run from tomorrow.
The preacher said I would lose my sullen mind.
Apple trees racing past my feet,
No more smiles sinking under my skin.
Nothing in my mind, the school, children won’t miss.
Money hidden in my britches, I’ll make it through.

Recessing back to my home, money not supplying me more.
Tomorrow I’ll be back in the old, a town withering without me.
Returning to school, teachers scorn my returned presence.
A preacher passes by, patting my shoulder, resting in my arms the reminder of home.
Grounded to the earth with which I was birthed, smiling I must
Remembering what it was like to peel apples from trees.

A preacher burying my soul in relief,
Never once leaving the brilliant familiar tall and smile,
Oh, apple trees, I am bound, our rhythm remains.


Bonds

Once upon a twilight night,
Calling upon her in the dead flight.
Holding close to the promised rights.

Biting down on frozen thoughts,
My beloved friend lost in wrong,
Brilliant lies that my face caught.

Horrible corruptions gone so far,
Breaking the bonds in a thoughtless war,
Never returning to the broken, sore.

Imprint

Text: Photos and inspiration from google, facebook, friends, and myself.
Publication Date: 12-02-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To my beloved family, For giving me all the inspiration in the world

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