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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
Angel's Hand
A hurry in the kitchen, a hurry of the plain
The day is now at dawn, the picture is engrained
Smell of the aroma, coffee blending in that dome
Found its way as if to say, its only in our home
Dayshift eyes are bleary, cigarettes take their turn
Radio static dances highway miles burn.
The minutes for their pages, away the mountains roll
Its only for a moment burned within a soul
A father and a daughter an uncle or a son
Woman, wife or mother one to everyone
Down into the well spring to the mountains core
Winding like the rope, hoist anchored to the floor
Eyes that fixed in virtue, hands that shake and grieve
Every moment passing gives and so receives
A mirror direct before you, image in the glass
Reflecting moments memories alluding to the past
Hope is in its virtue, pearls in given pair
Stopped in solid movement, as if you were still there
Lost in that fair mountain with nothing now the same
Time short and sudden, the angels called your name
I felt that word that virtue I felt that heaven hold
The valley lining legacy, silver valley trove
It was not below the mountian in lowest dark abiss
It was in that beloveds last goodbye and in that mother's kiss
It was in that young girls locket, in lovers shining band
Silver in reflection, in an angels hand
© 2011 Joel Tankersley
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