Galadriels Calling

by Dec 15, 2004Poetry

Silent is the listener
Still to the soul
Her tired tip toes
Tread the turf
Her shadow lean,
On silhouetted ground
Her fingertips caress
The crisp edge of blank,
Her muscles tense
Swayed in harsh whispers
Her mind is numb
An unconscious barrier
But still they conquer
The helpless hope
The grotesque twisted terror
That worms its way in
And clings to her mind
Under her skin.


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