Found Poetry 192

1/20/20

I close my eyes and see black powder
aiming at rhythmic shapes
I light the poem cannon
visions of shine over me
of nature and of the things in me and you
a voice wandering and wondering
if graves echo deaf
if blood roars mute
and just who comes original

This poem was created from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Click here to get Leaves of Grass.

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