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Creative Corner For sharing of poetry, artwork, verse and other creative things. |
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09-13-2012, 08:11 PM | #1 | ||
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- Just a poem about this old feller with a wand and a battle.
He stands on his own, no land here; no home, no haven in sight for his heart, and holds in his hand a wand he has manned, that’s delivered this world on this far. The moon rose up high, and in his clock eye, reflected an image to strike, a golden-white hue, to a world scorched brand new and an army awaiting this fight. He tipped his top hat, gave his cane a tap, and stretched a smile across his face. Then, with pale gloves so bright, and a suit black as night, he charged, spirits matching his pace. Lightning, wild and free, from his wand, you see, lashed out in a blistering doom, and filled this dark sky above with a light so bright that it rivaled the moon. This magician of such, wearing blood at the touch of hands that wield power so fair, cried a wish for the dead from a portal of lead behind one eye screaming forth a prayer. |
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