CHARLIE
Those sweet feelings I mean to write
those lovely intentions no pen may express
fly willfully from my reeling head
through neck, shoulder, and arm
singing as they soar
like flocks of beautiful doves
their whiteness blinding rays of hope
burning mortal eyes with purest love.
The platoon of peace-warriors
armed with olive branch
swoops into my awaiting hand
curled round expectant pen.
They crawl into that implement
of voice without voice
of speech without having spoken
and float down that inky river
until those sweet birds meet
that metal dam that damns those words
carried on the backs of angels.
Doves reduced to no more
than mere pidgeons
flee back to my bubbling, broiling brain
daunted by the pen-point
that rules an author's world.
And yet, no merely material thing
may hold a soul.
One day, the sheer pressure
of secret dreams and lifelong hopes
will shatter the earthly dam
abd loose love upon the paper
in a million different lines
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