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The Diamond Reflection

when i was a kid i remembered this place where we would go to buy herbs and spices and


they had everything there every kind of greenry leaf that grows to encapulate the concious


mind of a child breathing in the aires of a scrented land full of mystery the statues stood


staring at each others naked bodies above the water shimmering it was glistening the


diamonds reflection for the drip of colourss suspended it is the taste that remains it is the


ever expanding moments of expression caught and from that place we would go with


feeling then with everything moving I couldn't remembere where it was to begin with it


garden of enchantment with a ring was it, i can't remember, roses red roses and roses grown


through & through the valley then was just a hill in front of the house i grew up in that led


to the stream and the mountain was the castle wall keeping all within below the field of


dreams where further past further winds felt by hands drifting in the tree there was the heap


of theives made entirely of earth materials none so much could speak a word without feeling


then the pressure of a lifted hand to be invited to the table for what lay beyond the curtain


wast a vast revelation of roots tangling was just a belief dangling from a string the diamond


relfecting on all within the glass hanging by a branch the can pull the plumb line and make


sure the stakes are high where another world felt distances away where another land began


is where the dream ended and the mind starts to play with the light and the shadow the


boots and the meadow the only one I know sometime then in the fall when it was and far


from understanding a thing about what could be, caring about one, only then and what for


lost by the enchantment beneath the overgrown branches of the bushes on the sides of the


stream for all one had to do was duck beneath and everything that had once existed before


gone like a leaf falls to flow downstream just to find the relief of secluded air to breathe


alone or with a friend looking at the reflections of the diamonds shining round the stones


all became a play on words written in reverse held by broken hands smashing a mirror of


the mind within captivated glare of the senses flickering at each one and the same alighting


flames for to die by the book and kiss like the sentence written in sand far too long ago it


wasn't the first time and it won't be the last like poems written on a typewriter I cant get

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