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Click hereI’ve never seen you,
wouldn’t know you
if we passed.
You voice would not be familiar,
but your words!
Not spoken but written,
strike me
as an anvil does a tuning fork,
vibrations pitch-perfect .
Deeply resonant,
they resound harmonically,
explode ,
compound.
Confounding,
how could this be?
Words make a man weep?
Your words.
I’ve heard them all before,
but never like this,
You pluck and pull
chords within me,
desperate to be sung
You are either angel
or demon.
Please,
be an angel.
Let me know
the sweet sounds
you stir in me
are true and honest,
and real
But, angel or demon
I am lost to you.
You need do nothing more
than write the words.
I am yours.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,500 poems.
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An anvil on a tuning fork sounds like a singular event! Obsession can take its toll, however. Great poem, tt2u