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Rating: 4.5

You sang a song of eternal sanctum
Beneath a sliver moon of hope renewed
I discerned your mother’s voice, as it passed
Like an Olympic torch, to your daughters,
In their first, unsteady hymns -
Sometimes, growing old, we begin to
Realize the painted walls that we adored
Are really those of exile

Love is a freight train of possibility,

Interspersed with grain and granite dreams -
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Roger Cornish 29 September 2008

'Realize the painted walls that we adored Are really those of exile' You are good..........

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Excellent meters, loved the stalagmite daggers, wonderful poetry. Thanks for the read, L&T

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Tears In Rain 04 September 2005

Each stanza is so well crafted and a thought in it's own right they could stand alone. Combined they are even more powerful.

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David Gerardino 21 December 2004

I love this poem, right to the point and full of truth...

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Norah Comerio 18 December 2004

There are many thoughts in this piece that have touched me. Thank you for the simple complexity of this poem.

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