In the soul there lies a faraway place
where unknown roads wind and weave
into the horizon above distant fields;
where dreams dismissed fall into lands
marked by monoliths of strange metal,
alive with animals gliding through jungles;
where a small child sits in a temple
piping melodies that burn the night sky.
Kirsten Anderson, California, USA
This is one of the best poems I've read on any blog in the past month. I have read it several times, and each time, the opening three lines pull me effortlessly to the last line, which trabscends any comment.
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