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The Angel and The Viper
"Prison, will not hold our hearts, nor confine the wings of our spirits."

-for those, falsely accused, and those, who suffer, in their journey. You are never alone.

Prisoner, in your darkened walls, hangmen of your day brought forth your rage,
though in the lapse of time, somewhat appeared tormented in their own years...
but you, you were caged.
Noosed carefully, and so fatefully cursed -- baited with salt of your life, and hurt,
dweller of these halls, you pace in fear! And in your dark room at times
you could hear the vipers play.

Yet to look deep inside one's turning face, could your expectations of others trace,
an awareness of God's lost souls? And so far from home, so far from grace,
regathering as they go, dreams that were stolen, or thrown to waste.

For in our eye a rhythum flows. Something hides deep in the quiet hums,
from a place where flames never rose ... but angels come.
Yet, there are those, who upon the weak, still prey, in the world from which you've run.

Oh keeper of these hearts, these empty nest,
'tis here, they wander from love unblessed.
Return them, their strength, and a will to cope, that their threads of faith
shall become your rope,
into their unduely, and timeless rest.

Streams overflowing in the prisoner's mind, never bound by walls
or guardmen's chains,
felt inside whispers of poetic dreams, shine,
deep within the dweller's peace. God ... fill their hearts with thine.

But widely, often, and without control, all that so dearly, we hold to heart,
may slip into pieces, anger takes us whole!
When ones torn will, has taken its toll, the devils curse will start.

'Tis awfully quiet, to crawl inside -- to repaint your life, from where you hide,
But n'er less than the weak, do the strong ones cry.
For facing our own lives in fear, we fall. And of nothing, are we assured at all!
Though some, will dream on, and some ask why, in the corners of our darkness, inside we die.

And when another feather descends from flight, it will come to rest in my dreams tonight,
And though pain is great, it runs so far -- far beyond what and who we are,
to balance the tension, that steals our light. Yet somehwere still, one is lost from night,
retracing the steps they knew ... a world, too far from sight.

And in one long sober, and pensive motion, while but once the shade of dusk has fled,
you stand weary-eyed, and face the ocean -- your long frail body beside the bed.
And through your small and narrow window space, without statement upon your face,
you stare beyond the walls and earth, unsheltered in some dishonored shame.
You stand one of many, without a name. Yet, something warm, as though a flame
rekindles the measures of your life, and gives this exsistence worth.

It took this long, this far to come, to see the pale colors that time can give.
That all the years of youth relived, can not replace this point in time.

And what posture would poets have thought you in?
That here, unoticed, again departs that part of a person, we mark as sin,
from the rest of your broken and battered heart.

We make marks in the sand, and a language grows --
with hums of our voices, a music flows -- a thirst in our hearts, and a yearning glows.
Like flames of eternal lanterns burning far past the death of suns still turning,
around and round, we fall alone. But alone, we begin the journey.

Time now, administers an oath to thee. Though your heart shall remain your deepest ocean,
with but this, dwell, till you come to be, the key to your own emotions.

If where one breath may draw salvation, I would embrace you in your long, and final nod.
From one step, to another, you have found relation... for the first time in your life...
you questioned God.

David T. Culver

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The following comments are for "The Broken Moth"
by moonrising36109

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