"Dust thou art to dust returnest"


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Monday, March 18, 2013

Angels of Concrete


Here we are terrified of awakening, 
Every wind that blows in the afternoon
Sun-white... blacken snow..
Over concrete angels 

Gentle touch of a hand, so foreign 

Over the hills on the grass thou cover...

Sun-white... blacken snow.

Once was a boy, was told which direction to go
Would never listen...

Can't keep sheltering my soul without refuge 
Girl, my heart is yours...

Gentle touch of a hand, so foreign 

Over the hills on the grass thou cover...

Terrified to wake.

Photo by: Deborah Ann Barcomb

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