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UNTIL by Terry OlynikHold on tight.
My hand
Purposely brushes your thigh.
We shall not release
Until the second star
Bursts
BURSTS
(Colours
All over our past)
Strangers
May have their own tale.
The colours
Drip
So
Slowly. 03/28/2010 Posted on 03/28/2010 Copyright © 2025 Terry Olynik
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 03/28/10 at 03:43 PM I like this....the arrangement of the words that emphasizes the thoughts and the interplay of time and space....the symbolism...my favorite lines especially: "the colors...drip...so....slowly"...where the deliberate spacing and placing of words in the lines dramatizes the slow drip. A very strong piece of poetry you've created leaving a strong impression in the reader's mind. well done! |
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