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In Her and Evening there is no conflict between the will and the heart, held in derision as the clouds grow apart an interminable blue leads your conscience away, these beach sands below just the slag of the day she moon, with soft irish eyes both hell and heaven in a singular frame, the pharisee’s leaven the daughter of rain her stars resolve what the day could not slake, with a galaxy gallop on a horse that won’t wait. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terry L Krieg On Date: 2014-05-02 20:19:06
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Your poem is a ver enjoyable read for me! That is how I want my day to end with a galaxy gallop! Thank you for submitting it.