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threading myself through the dark river of night golden eyes glowing freedom threading myself the tunnel of air soothes the dark wind's caress the occasional grass's parting whisper the needle's point of silence threading myself through the dark river of night blood burns through my veins alive threading myself the damp of wetness seeps the silence fills the void that is never emptied the thrill is ever present threading myself through the dark river of night muscles tighten and relax evening's swiftness moves on like glass so I thread myself until the yawing screech of day. Copyright June 22, 2014 Meloo/ Author Melissa A Howells All Rights/Ideas are the Property and are Reserved/Copyrighted by This Author Copyright site: Tilt-a-World "yaw" referring to a wide open mouth... and "yawing" being an invented word by myself/Melissa A Howells Vote for this poem
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