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Michele Townsend IndieAuthor.
Sometimes I Write Poetry, or as I call it emptying my head on a page.
White
White, white, white
Mine is the toil of lights
Saturates my core
Drives me to want more
Breathe in
Lift, elated
Spent soul
Sinks deflated.
Rest no, again, repeat
Hunger hunger no replete.
On, on, go, get
White is the light of the time we met.
​
Gold
Golden is my light now
Not silver
Not white
Of summer afternoons
Essence laden, air infused
Heavy lidded, slowing turning
Flecks of golden dust
Yearning
Precious, but to me
Dancing flecks in golden sea
Breathe in, memories
Of what was, with all my might.
distant now gold is my light
Silver
This will be my light
Reverse, black, front, silver bright
Soul searching, silvered gaze
Coloured memories bleeding haze
Snap, sharp, cold, clear
Times, swift.
Ends draw near.
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Times of Light series.
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