Soul Pressed Poetry

Poetry that comes from our soul.

emptied (April 21 2011)

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last night
my temple got emptied
pictures and figureheads
sacred and mundane

guidebooks, souvenirs
the cushioned seat
the writing paper
every dream

when the wind rushed in
it found only pipes
and organs
      and a chant

a chant that spun
it spun the way the moon spins
the way a candle flickers
the way a group of woman call

and the wind stole that echo too
lifting it, lifting it

and my temple was empty of all sound

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