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Axilea MU

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Member Since: Nov, 2006

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All Secrets Cried
by Axilea MU

Saturday, February 09, 2008
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Axilea MU
•  Simply-fire
•  In Transit
•  Unended
•  Anima-L
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           >> View all 270

- what happens after -

My memory is


In broken pieces

- Teeth that bite -

Under a full

  Unaware moon.

Fuller is my conscience

That doesn't bite

As I realize the meaning of

  Being whole...

I am under lenient skies

   My secrets cried;

I seek, don't hide

- Gliding, Free -


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Reviewed by Leo Durrant 3/5/2008
I seek, don't hide

That, in itself, describes being whole. I like the feeling of hope that oozes from this piece.

Reviewed by Kathy Armijo 2/15/2008
Bringing the secrets out into the open is a freeing experience, I know.

God bless you. Kathy
Reviewed by Walt Hardester 2/14/2008
Lenient skies...Excellent!

Reviewed by Art Sun 2/10/2008
There is a revelation when one's memory can become born again to discovery of new beginnings, laying those secrets within their own tears and becoming more than one was and whole agin to find....oneself again...

nice work, Axilea...

Art Sun...
Reviewed by stan nassano 2/10/2008
your words come alive with a sharpness,nice write Axilea,
Reviewed by Georg Mateos 2/10/2008
When my secrets cry, they do it in front of a broken mirror, so no one can see but pieces of an image that doesn't hide but that you never will see all.
A great compasition.
Reviewed by Dark Knight 2/10/2008
to encounter your poetry and to gaze upon your enchanting beauty is a treat for any Knight
Reviewed by Karen Palumbo 2/9/2008
And hopefully your soul is a peace and you can move forward from here, nicely stated....

Be always safe,
Reviewed by Felix Perry 2/9/2008
The fragility of love and hearts is as you suggested comparable to broken glass...excellant write here Axilea.

Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 2/9/2008
Powerfully penned, Axilea, empowering! Well done.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader) 2/9/2008
We, -our mortal bodies- are slaves to our soul. The season of reason will have us think our souls are slaves to our bodies, or the soul even exist...
But find one happy person who is slave to their body.. not one you'll find, other than on a superficial level.. they want more more more.

Spot on, Lent is the time to let the innerman make one whole... Soul is the master weaver...
Reviewed by Charlie 2/9/2008
I love the space in this poem-- it breathes with it-- the double spacing-- the breathy air to it-- there's no angst. And I like your change in font color. It makes three poems: "My memory is Reconciled", just the black middle, and the whole. And I'm a sucker for alliteration-- all those echoing vowel sounds are intoxicating, and your long "i" slant rhymes punctuate thoughts into our wide-eyed minds. But the best thing about it is the sentiments behind it-- it sings of freedom. Let freedom ring! --Charlie

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