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citadel
 
In the citadel of night, dreams make weightless all ordinary things -
that drift as lightwaves across a shuttered lid, transforming sorrows
into the bearable, loss into shapes with heavenly wings, fear and doubt
into Michael's Sword. Bodiless in dreams I rise through dark oceans
of defeat and compromise, unmortar every stone and shatter
the celestial blue glass ceiling to paradise.

By firebird918

© 2015 firebird918 (All rights reserved)

 

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