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  1. In The Rue Morgue

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    In the Rue Morgue: Reversible #7

    Blow winds—icy; clear and cold.
    Moon full. Fearful howling,
    slinking shadow. Alley dark.
    Mortal wounds, torn flesh;
    blood oozes drop by drop.
    Gasping, spirit departs.
    Hideous visage laughing silently,
    shadows dark ; concealing all.
    Grim stalker leaves…

    Leaves stalker. Grim
    all concealing dark shadows.
    Silently laughing, visage hideous;
    departs spirit, gasping. ...
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  2. Colors #II

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    COLORS #2

    Crimson is the color of my rage,
    boiling from red-hot to the depths of icy cold,
    by far the more dangerous of the two. Fueled by hurt
    feelings, encouraged by aggravation, tempered in pain;
    the anger burns out-of-control, causing fear
    to bubble up inside. It always leaves me empty and lonely.

    Frost is the color of the lonely.
    They are an ice-capped mountain, licked by flames of rage;
    pitted here and there by ...
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  3. The Virtuous Nomad

    [FONT=Arial][COLOR=Indigo]He walked his feet on world grounds
    From the steeps of Parthenon
    To heavy streets of Bangkok
    Lured by dreams and wonders
    And he challenged his ego
    Among fearless bikers of Vietnam
    The warlords of buzzing streets
    And with his two passionate eyes
    Captured the smiles of the Malayans
    And shared the cold air with the unknown Chinese old man
    While they talked and smoked pipes in Shanghai’s most crowded alley ...
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  4. Masquerade

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Ramblings from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia)
    Masquerade

    I wonder just what would happen
    If I threw all my masks away
    And let you see the lonely man
    Behind the masquerade?
    I have so many pseudonyms,
    And I use them as I feel the need—
    But somewhere in this tangled mess
    I lost the sight of me…

    Am I Jonathan Blade, the bold, the daring?
    David Pendragon, writer with the silver pen?
    Raven Darkendale torn by emotional storm?
    John Michael Carmichel—logic ...
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  5. Caroline

    by , 11-02-2006 at 05:41 PM (Imported Poems)
    nourishment,
    love

    jetting,
    dribbling.

    tears rain
    from my breast
    onto
    shower panes,
    too fat and heavy
    to fall from my
    eyes.

    milk that you
    will never
    drink
    the nurse told me
    to dry up
    but how can i stop
    this is all i have
    we will never
    be together again
    so i may...
    never...
    stop
    spilling
    ...something.
    ...
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