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The moonlight has forgotten everything, and is obsessed with silver. The promise in this glow, blank page of covering, is healing. What shall I conceive on this virginity? Immaculata of the frozen earth, Your choir has abandoned you. No wind, no past, no Angelus sings in trees long excluded from the Garden. Sweet Gabriel has stripped himself of wings and halo, and leaves no footsteps in the snow.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2014-01-22 09:29:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Mark, even on a separate plane, the impact of your verse is distinct. For one who has lost their memory and must function is a pre-designated culture; is the taste of similar, or even (if one is disposed in such) is the return after a cycle of reincarnation- particularly if there is a bleed over as some supposedly have. Then again; one might assume that the new incarnation also means beginning with forgiveness or redemption of sin, for how can one be guilty of sin if one has no knowledge of what sin is, or of sins possibly committed- then there is the prince and the pauper; entering into a compact with the cultural requirement of present situation, and yet remembering; at least for the prince, the enormity of all that he was, and can no longer be. Culture shock; for one- self imposed to be the benefactor. Personally, it has made me look at the function of genetics or presentation; as it refers to Christ. Fertilization of the virgin, or tree of souls donor chosen by Gabriel. These are things I have never considered, and some I haven't thought of in a long time. The metaphor for the current social and political conditions is also a striking one. Sometimes I just have to choose. Any piece that draws my thoughts such as this is a good piece to me. This is a stunning piece.
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