The soul of mine

My soul a silent shadow wanders like the winds of Mongolia to the kingdom's of the sea, my soul lingers upon serenity skipping the sounds of the monks beating bell.

The far out flinching of the finch enmeshed within my Apple like skull, for which is cut like a tender lime, little thoughts of little gain galvanized by my wet nest of hair and my soul still ploys the bronze barley fields of west Belfast

Written by Lennan Branagan.McCandless on 19/05/14
© L.B.M19/5/14

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Please check out a reading of my poem it may be easier to listen to it.

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Ireland, soul

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