January 5, 2012

  • precipice

    She stands at the precipice
    Looking down on all that is, all that can be
    Knowing the answer to every question
    Awash in a summer breeze
    Gentle laughter
    The texture of a rainbow
    The scent of freshly fallen rain
    The subtle kiss of the sun
    Every happy thought of every millenium
    A thousand voices quietly speaking in unison
    The hand of anima mundi reaches up to touch her face.

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