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Feb 18, 2012

Temptation's Hand.

Through these windowpanes
That I never noticed were so caked in grime,
The outlines of rough images become defined,
Blurriness settling into an ethereal design.
Curtains of shadows flit past
And freeze fluidly in a shape, magnified, tall--
That looks eerily like a beckoning finger.
I turn my eyes away and stare at the wall.
But dust are these perilous pretensions,
That blind my sight when those beckoning shadows appear;
There are moments of piercing clarity
When illusions begin to disappear.

A beckoning finger,
A Siren's hypnotic voice.
Urging me to leave behind responsibilities,
And to turn a deaf ear to the presence of a choice.
A beckoning finger,
Evoking memories of a free world,
Grass as green as emeralds, sky a cerulean blue,
A white flag of freedom, fluttering in the wind, unfurled.

It whispers promises of quenched desires
In the murky depths of sleepless nights.
"Succumb to me," that voice murmurs,
"Fall from your climb to un-scaled heights"

And when that voice disappears, and the shadows at night,
And the mind submits to the grave concentration of life,
Though your climb to commendable heights is almost complete,
But for the last step: a steep hike in the midst of wildlife;
Determination divine, breath strong despite your struggle,
The beckoning finger returns, cutting through it with a knife.


Please tell me if you get the connection between the picture and the poem :)


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