pictorial

…Can you hear it, can you hear it screaming? Oppressive, with shafts of madness, burning white. It holds bolts of hailstorms; unleashes ice, surgical blades, beyond belief and darkens wings of all angels… It holds hostage our precious sun, and will not beg for redemption.

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4 Comments

Filed under 60N, Arcania, geopoetics, poetry, spirit, white, wind, winter

4 responses to “pictorial

  1. Other than the incensed air of wood fires inlaced with the smoke of turf from the hearths of Erin. I hear no sound, nor sight of the icy gale that re-carves your island with it's might.

  2. Could be the start of a following stanza, Sir Heron. Love crossing the ocean & the Irish sea!Thank you for your contribution 🙂

  3. Not for publication.Dear Nat,I too have now written about a recent storm you will need to pay a visit tohttp://wordsofaramblingmind.blogspot.com/Regards, Mel

  4. Nice one, dear friend :-)The "Big Sky" remains a constant source of inspiration :-))

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