©Aislynn d'Merricksson, 2011Old bones,
wicker-wire,
grey-gilt with the twilight.
Old dreams,
discarded hopes,
penny-treasures buried and lost.
Essence of effluvium
perfumes the air.
Ghosts of the past linger near.
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Music of the Heart
PoetryPoetry sings the soul. It strums the heartstrings, enlivening. Inspiring. The poems within are a symphony of the soul, the music of my heart. There are serious poems, the solemn chords of cello and violin. There are happy poems, the carefree trill...