“English”
A cloud of abstract bonds of bathed errors,
Of butterflies in a whirlwind of thunder.
An abuse of grey summer,
Guarded no longer by the blessed warlock of wind.
A wish of clarity in emotions,
Memories of the able thought in search of a pencil’s lead.
In the speech of a stream of silk words,
Showers a radical giggle of expression.
Clocks intertwine upon God’s grid of sketch.
In a stall of forgotten fears,
Pain is the note of the orchestral hush,
Caressing the depressed skull of swine.
By omnipresent meditation in the spindle of worldly search,
Freedom cooperates with fate.
Shed poetic spirit in an ethereal prose.
Despite who may catch the hints in the palms of their angel,
The author will always guffaw with pride in their own.
Find what you are looking for,
For the flight of your veteran from the war of fiction lies in daggered footsteps,
Towards the deceptive spring of hospitality.
Need not worry though,
For the scarlet autumn is near.
The English language is a festival of glimmer.
Walk into the warmth of Her arms,
And from tyranny She shall whisper the alphabet of bejeweled conscience.
Let Her dove of tongue migrate into the soul of your self,
For it is that life within you that shall constellate,
As sure as Luna is destined to smile,
Whether it be in the eclipse of a divine shadow,
Or in the spray of painted light.
-FMG
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