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The ballad of a windy Spring

Oh wind with your mighty fists,
who speaks of frozenness;
who sleeps inside her throat,
the singer's voice melts the iron
inside my bones,
melts it into a river of faces,
long ago.

Oh wind who whispers broken syllables
through young-green leaves,
weaving at unseen stars:
poets of the past, hanging bright
in their next season;
a slow waltz inside a galactic dream,
or perhaps a plot of demons.

Oh wind who moves graciously
inside tulip's hungry mouths;
whose blood did they drink,
to obtain their reddish colours?
What fires ignite your pen, what inks
drop from your loomy tongue?

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
A repost.
Editing stage: 


hmmm, you might be right about the last two lines, plural is better.
Thank you for your comment, Ian

author comment

lol, maybe more people will discover their "inner poet"!

author comment

I really enjoyed reading this.Stanza 2 is in my opinion not just the heart but the soul of this poem. !st stanza is a bit unclear in message to me, but I'm sure you will "fix" it better than I could...............scribbler PS almost forgot to say I really loved the imagery

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