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If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

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The Voice Lost In the Wires

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I Turn Forward

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Beyond Door Number Three

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Elise, Elise

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Someone Send Out A Search Party

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The Sky Reflects

the sky reflects

the sky reflects
what I reflect
how I reflect
it thinks as
I would think

grey on grey on grey
with little spots of blue
in between

and here now:

the crow bobs in
hops flops nearly falling down
then startled
takes wing
I am in HIS wings

I see in him
my blacker self
feathers askew
and a halting gait

we mind how others mind us
or do we
how we are deemed
to be

his voice
is my voice
betrays a certain vibration
annoyance or
a choice

I hear his loneliness
a cry
that is a cry
of me

is his call
beaten down

a bitterness or pall
is it pain or bad chance
or the un-simplification of
some great difficulty

how I am rooting for him

see how his
courage propels him upwards
as he one-foot hops
into the sky

it takes a lot
to stay
to fly above
the fray of
continually scattering

do both crow and I
being born to the flock
find the need of
lone flight (a lot)

is this the reason
I crave the wide plains
of sky?

Copyright May 23, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells/Tilt-a-World

Copyright June 11/2015 re-edited All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World/Copyright Site Title
All ideas/rants/poetry/prose is the expressed legal property of this writer.

Thank you kindly for reading.  I write this poem in gratitude for a return to
health. The crow gave me hope.

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