Flying Machines

we call upon the ancient memories,
the faded days, when wings were still sacred
we wander through the landscape of winds;
our hearts leap from cloud to cloud, and
the moon-drenched sky sifts through
our imagination, leaving a cold trace
of air azure, gently caressing the mind

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2 comments

  1. slpmartin · April 1, 2013

    Love the imagery of the poem.

  2. Sublime 🙂

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