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Crystal Snoddon
Poetry and other Lamentations
"No man knows till he has suffered
from the night how sweet and dear
to his heart and eye the morning can be."
Bram Stoker
WELCOME
How fleeting a moment of communion, of sorrow, the exquisite pain of intense love.
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Words attempt to bring sense and sensitivity to the robust argument of 21st century life.
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We communicate in an effort to illicit understanding. Touch joy.
Welcome to the view from my world.
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He
left me, blind seed
listening to the tap of
crow black talons nearing my perch
in the crook of a tree,
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hurry! they cry, our globe's lava core
a whistling boil, it
strains in its iron shell
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my spine
gives way to the hammering beaks splintering my husk
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with shimmering eyes they watch my heart topple
to the ground.
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a shower of owlet tears
His Spirit nourishes my rooting faith.
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