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A Metaphorical poem about a fact of nature.

Submitted:Sep 22, 2009    Reads: 66    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

The Master

Slowly, it approaches with strength and ferocity,
It fills the sky with omniscient glow,
Gray, but not dull, Dark, yet not intimidating,
It demands respect, yet is not authoritarian,
It strikes fear in some, yet is not fearsome.
It sails across the sky like a ship through the ocean,
Elegant and majestic, with surreal mellifluence,
With it, comes a wave of expectancy,
The thousands gather awaiting that first small taste of perfection,
A taste as though from another world, without faults or flaws,
A loud crack signals the beginning of something magical,
A thing unrivalled in beauty and wonder,
Unmatched in its ability to bring joy,
It is a master at work, delicate and precise,
Guiding its way toward waiting followers,
Those that dare to dream of emotion and feeling,
Of things that far surpass the frivolous wants of man,
A magnificence so close, yet unobtainable,
It is everywhere now, yet they cannot get enough of it,
Is it ever really possible to sate a want of perfection,
The chance to change a life is not lightly taken,
But slowly, it dissipates, gradually moving along,
The people are disappointed and sad,
But perfection cannot rest with a select few,
There are other lives in need of a glimpse of brilliance,
The master must sail on.

Rhys Denovan


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