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Post by lightbaron on Dec 12, 2013 9:48:15 GMT -5
sliced watermelons deliver themselves on the back of disguised lavenders, hiding behind the embittered and unrequited passions rejected by the grey that haunts today purple is the lady that the old man remembers when he has earned his alone and the wolves aren't yet skinned he rolls his last few nickels across autumns bar listening to the necessity in the silk that she drapes over the wood not yet split toast to the logs prematurely lit and hibernation uncertain as the warmth from fresh blood prostrated on the flooring from winters first storm
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siksimon
Demon Disciple
Blind leading the blind.
Posts: 524
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Post by siksimon on Dec 12, 2013 20:19:14 GMT -5
It has glowing substance, and poetry readers love substance, hate filler, lucid and vibrant. The Goddess will power your spells based on the effort put into your work and the substance of your enchantments.
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Post by Aish on Dec 14, 2013 23:43:06 GMT -5
I'm not done yet, either. Wolves to skin.
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Post by nibbana on Apr 15, 2014 21:08:14 GMT -5
I do not understand your opening strophe. The rest is very beautiful. Draping silk over wood not yet split - I am thinking this is a well crafted metaphor. Her tongue is veiled knife.
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me
Crimson Soul
trying to land :_)
Posts: 122
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Post by me on Apr 29, 2014 5:59:02 GMT -5
do not waste our nows on the things that never where when there is other possibilities to reach for , or beautifuly dressed lover in front of the fire , i get a bit lost with metaphores they always mean something different to whoever reads them , but love the way you've put the words together :_)
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