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I'll try my hand at this


poetrychick

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Lordly rays of Gold,

Shining, meady rays of Amber,

Forceful shades of Copper hue,

This Light, the lackless colour of brite White;

extreme.

These, this splendor,

Has always shone down upon me,

Drenching my fleshy flesh,

Covered with stains of dark.

The voids that cover me

Are consuming, still consuming,

Body and Soul,

No colour do they hold.

And I am blinded, ever blinded

As I walk on the foresaken, but easily trodden

path,

Not by the rays that cut and sting my blasphemous

eyes with their brilliant colour,

But ever - ever by my wounds, self-inflicted.

I hope to one day; follow those colours home.

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I guess it could be because everyone interperets it different.

That's why we write, isn't it? I mean, of course something is going to mean something to you when you write it, but it can't mean the same to everyone, or it won't effect them. I've seen some interpretations of pieces I've written that I would never have thought of, but work perfectly well.

To me, this poem seems to have a religious theme. Perhaps somebody yearning for redemption.

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