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Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Cxxi

Rating: 3.8
A flame of gold
She was
Beneath my finger tips.
Skin richer than velvet
Softer than watered silk.
Her words;
The breeze that blows from Elysium,
Her taste sweet,
But yet sour;
Like life,
Mother Nature herself.
Every sweet thing has a bitter end.

The flame died,
You pulled away from me
You hid away in your sacred garments
And went back to reside in the temple of pretence.
Mary Ali
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COMMENTS
Naseer Ahmed Nasir 12 July 2009
Nice poem, Mary, but as you said ' Every sweet thing has a bitter end'. She was certainly insincere in displaying her affection. Though a peaceful tragedy should be understood as nature's play and correlated with the facts of life. Best Wishes Naseer
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