Grand Canyon

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  No Houses

Echoes are like shadows, it all depends on the time day for them to arrive.

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The Watchman, accustomed to tranquility, found his downfall in the top-sails of thunder-storm doldrum apparitions. Diabolical tendencies amassed and, with boredom he cultivated the mischievous turmoil of standing upon the precipice of a great horizon, searching for a full hour of perplexity.

And, so he spoke," My useless jingling complaints serve unheard listeners. However, into this canyon I echo, with resounding contrition; asking for the advised affection of consequence."

And, the canyon replied," Resplendent, and contrary to your claw-footed threshold, your vigilant and whip-driving words bellow, drumming out the fatigue of my existence, so step out; into me and jump charmed yet unchanged,down."

The Watchman, dulled by time in the strand of a torrent of existence, stepped forward.

Echoing dismal, like the clap of wings on a bright cheery day, with loud deliberate footsteps he approached his passage.

Grand, indeed. 


Submitted: June 14, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Dr. Acula. All rights reserved.

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hullabaloo22

Plummeting into the chasm in true style. Excellent, Doc!

Sun, June 14th, 2020 7:09pm

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