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Up.

sweet birdsong in winds of rocky mountain heat,
a cry for solace without silence,
freedom without loneliness-
and I, a human without a song,
echo back a bark of longing,
rough cut timbre fallen on
a plain of tranquility, showering deep discord-
gravitybound envy for tender slices of air,
wing tip mast mastery of the breeze,
wind ripped existence outside foot by foot ramblings,
to be excluded from the weight of the earthen
and cut up, dart out, be gone
buoyant on a whim-
stuck pressing on gravel beds,
stumbling on stones,
climbing heavybreath leadenlegged to summits
capped from the ever above-
limitation lamentations:
the cry of ascending
without the rising thereof.
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Submitted on August 12, 2014

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