|Monday, January 7th, 2002|
8:32p - A Neat Poem by a Neat Friend
(I think this is a copy of a letter from my brother, who is the only poet in the family...)
I wrote the part about it being for real. I'm suspicious that it's just a scam to get lots of people to register (ie money).
I had not forgotten that supposed trip to Vegas. I'll wait until I see the printed material... Thus far I've had two people offer to pay the trip if it's for real. Geeze.
I sent in a poem that I originally wrote when I went to Miami for the first bail hearing. I edited it heavily and improved it vastly when I met the "real thing".
It's called Touch of Fire. I'd have to be on the computer at the airport for final edit, but below is basically the poem.
How ironic that there are some really neat things happening in my life, things to share, and I can't share them. Both our loss.
TOUCH OF FIRE
You are the last unicorn.
Magic born of chaos,
swans gliding on mirrored sunset,
doves weeping at dawn.
Dark clouds laced with lightning,
thunderheads flashing molten gold.
You are all that is left
of a time of candlelight and minuets,
the last minstrel.
Today there was a different color to your eyes,
Today, there was more of you,
Come out of the shadows.
When the storm passed
I sat on the balcony and watched the waves play,
the couples walking,
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current mood: accomplished
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