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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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