When they tore down the barn
they found bits of tack and harness
sleeping like messages from the kingdoms
of dirt and rust, shadows of ancient horses
...
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This is poetry. Not rhymes and meters that jangle the ear, but the magical whisper of shadowy truth behind each word that speaks directly to the soul with no necessity of mental translation. This writer is indeed truly fluent in the tongue of the soul.
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This is poetry. Not rhymes and meters that jangle the ear, but the magical whisper of shadowy truth behind each word that speaks directly to the soul with no necessity of mental translation. This writer is indeed truly fluent in the tongue of the soul.