While black-spruce gravely holds council,
a grayish crescent haunts the blue,
I'm gathering the thread of courage,
winding a fine, elusive skein.
Wild-flowers pressed between pages,
strange lyrics and music beckon.
My life, a cautionary tale,
a heart held in a vice, a song
for my sisters and the voiceless,
the unheard, unloved, un-caressed,
broken bodies marked by moon-runes,
Chinook wraps their longings in silk.
Rilke (Leonid Pasternak, 1900) Image credit to Wikimedia Commons GONG Sound, no longer measurable with the sense of hearing. As ...
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Alexander Scriabin: the Poem of Ecstasy (English translation by Faubion Bowers) (See the original here .) Spirit, Winged with the...
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