Spillage, Down Here, In Sleeping VillageA Poem by PeteWhen I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest. - Thoreaucaressing masssaging collaging and barraging as a soft-lipped flute kisses the soulan entourage of percussion accentuating joy treading in the stratosphere good and loud realm to realm and cloud to cloud adding drama to the fold don its rhythm and melody if you're ever cold guitar strums speak in tongues as they preach to the spirit from a pulpit of perpetuity say, think and feel what you will good luck trying to keep neck, feet and hands still the music is the poem unopened jeroboam glowing, knowing, sparkling and bestowing a waterfall for the ears overflowing verses and refrain equally giving thrill in a divine celebration of free will psychedelic, rhythmic rampage licking fingers and turning a new page time to time and age to age rolling up hill as you dance and have your fill newfound wealth able to uncork unafraid to spill © 2024 PeteAuthor's Note
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Added on May 31, 2024 Last Updated on May 31, 2024 AuthorPeteBoston, MAAboutI love reading, writing, music, nature, God and feeling emotion, not necessarily in that order. To me, these things go hand in hand. My favorite writer is Henry David Thoreau. I think he was a geni.. more..Writing
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