The wings of darkness

revealing to the inner me
the constellations of my dreams
where no mortal flies.
The harbinger of fate’s hand
is played out in the frigid vast
assumptions of ones thoughts
adds new food for the table
of our troubled lives.
The sentinel stillness
watches from the towers
with the guardians on mountains
of our choosing mind.
The labyrinth of energy
where our atoms are stored
may itself becomes an atom
of some large working store.
30 October 2009
Author’s Note:
Please take this poem as a poets flight with fantasy and nothing more.

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