Comments on this Article/Poem:
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04-27-2011
Mae Futter Stein
Hi Walter,
Nice poem. So smooth and full of wisdom. Well written. I loved reading this, and you made it a perfect size and easy to understand. Thanks for sharing.
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04-27-2011
Irina Guschina
There is something hidden in every good poem. So, we need to be able 'to read between lines' as we call it here.
Sure, 'Letter Left Open' because 'A stone is rolled early or late'.
'... seeking fate
In the dark of night by the garden gate..."
Great metaphor, Walt!
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04-14-2011
Alan Reed
Yes, what about the cup, Walter?
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04-13-2011
Frank Fields
Sooner or later, for most of us too soon, the stone is rolled. Then in the sepulcher of darkness, final tally may be made. Was the cup offered enough, or withheld too many times?
Strange, perhaps, the thoughts that come to mind from your works. For me, at any rate. ^^
Frank :)
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04-13-2011
Raja Sharma
God is never going to leave any of us and I am sure that if we think otherwise there must be something missing in the beautiful understanding of the Lord and His creations.
Sir, your poem moves in circles and I move with the circles. It brings the picture of special and common simultaneously, without any prejudice.
The line which I am going to pick is 'Time is a burden left' rest is commentary.
Yes, tumults in live bring transformations in human life and with every passing years reason gets stronger and stronger. The way you say all this things is unmatched and I salute you, Sir.
The scene of Lord's crucifixion touched me.
God bless you
Rajasir
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04-06-2011
Elijah Sowder
As a whole, I thought the poem was really good, but for some reason, I loved just the first part by itself. I can't really explain why though. But very good overall, I think this poem came at the right time.
Death for our sins. Can it ever be repaid, With imperfect skins, And every sinful day?
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04-06-2011
Alan Reed
Very nicely and smartly written. As soft as free-falling into permanent sleep.
We reach, we envision. We wander and pass through extraordinary gates; to splendor in all grasses. We are delusional and wonder if heaven is Utopia as the wine softens the cerebellum.
Meanwhile, we live the joy that interweaving thoughts and spirits pave on the road with toward wisdom and then maybe nothingness.
Really enjoyed the write and will do something soon with a similar, cool rhyme scheme. Thanks for the images. I see them clearly through inebriated cataracts, :-)
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