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Throughout all of his life
he had moved words around.
Formulated rows of verse
into vivid sketches, that told
of silver sprinting streams
and mountains that cast
their bullying shadows
over the surfaces of cool lakes.

Fields of golden corn.
Sunlight that caught
and turned the dew
into specks of diamonds,
shone like a jeweller's window.

He believing the eye
needed to be directed by passion;
knowing that illuminating objects
intensified their visability.

From boy to man
he searched beneath
the bark of trees.
Tore apart the seasons
his stones became stonier...

his final line,
sitting like a small reward.

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The following comments are for "Believing the Eye"
by ograd77

Sounds like Frost
Sounds a lot like Robert of my favorite poets.

2nd choice...Wordsworth.


( Posted by: Beatrice Boyle [Member] On: February 3, 2011 )

Nicely done!

( Posted by: jonpenny [Member] On: February 3, 2011 )

I so often am impressed with your writing.

( Posted by: Pen [Member] On: February 3, 2011 )

Alexander Alexandrovich Blok (Russian: Алекса́ндр Алекса́ндрович Блок, 28 November 1880 7 August 1921)

( Posted by: ograd77 [Member] On: February 7, 2011 )

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