Mirrors Of Truth
by
Walter Jones
(Age: 63)
copyright 08-29-2008
Age Rating: 13 to 127
Paid
Shade
Tree a
Still me borrow
Staid will last travel of ghost the is pale
Pale is the ghost of travel last will staid
Borrow me still
A tree
Shade
Paid
I want to be
Oh I want to see
Please let it all pass
Trust in bundle of words
Easy came back to guitar playing
Willing corner with a light of eyes
Silence pulled of heart beat taking day
Each love song rattle of now slips past a way
Amber travels past a movie reversed a boy to man
Child pushes more to joy going faster than water fade
Be to want I
See to want I oh
Pass all it let please
Words of bundle in trust
Playing guitar to back came easy
Eyes of light a with corner willing
Day taking beat heart of pulled silence
Way a past slips now of rattle son love each
Man to boy a reversed movie a past travels amber
Fade water than faster going joy to more pushes child
It was as crazy in holding as the love left in alley way
We are sun burning bright upon a star given hope
Fatal wish closes the path less traveled to home
Write for me a push past trying fate stream
Pretty as wed confessed in water falls lies
Truth comes in hues of try again when it
Lady pushes past a children's tale came
London bridge fell down but love cries
A mix of widow and happy purple sky
As it was in beginning end will end
Pincers paradise tangled web cast
Each word covers me in mirror fix
Tag became off guard eyes dreaming
Spinning off queue in secret poem
Poem secret in queue off spinning
Dreaming eyes guard off became tag
Fix mirror in me covers word each
Cast web tangled paradise pincers
End will end beginning in was it as
Sky purple happy and widow of a mix a
Wanton repeal of washed harder silence
Earth opens up its door and I run one last time
To sleep waiting
For scores
Closes
Death
Death
Closes
Scores for
Waiting sleep to
Time last one run I and door its up opens Earth
Author Notes
Blake watched the Lamb consume the tiger
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Dear Sir,
I am sure that had William Blake and P.B.Shelly been alive today , they would have come to have a word with you, not negatively but to learn something from you, for you have moved one step ahead. The form of the mirror poem is exquisite but the content is fantastic and I really loved it.
Bless you
Rajasir
I may be wrong, but I'm right for me. There is no truth, there are only reflections. And so, armed valiantly with that assurance, we can go forth and declare:
Little Lamb who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice.
Little Lamb who made thee?
Which truth is, of course, only half-complete, but if one looks deep into his treasure chest of Truth, he may find:
Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the middle of the night.
From which burning, or because of it, none were fed, Lamb and Blake along their destinies did follow, and the Tyger returned to his proper place after a brief sojourn.