a poem is the funeral pyre
of pulsations, once exhumed
but now still present;
fueled by the flame of our
rue-filled memories
a poet is the gathering together
of thought and hope
that intermingle with the
burnished trim of
a late afternoon sky
and poetry is a dream
garbed in bilious words
whose raiment is laced
by meandering verse and
be-jeweled by barely parted lips:
It takes but a whisper
to free the wandering soul.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 19th, 2022 00:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
(then dear insightful Poet
whisper, to thy self:
'Poesy, empower me
to light, paths
consumed by strife
and brighten, smiles, encased
within immeasurable, self-doubt
beginning, with my own
path and smile, of a life
Posey, befreind me
for eternity...')
thanks for sharing, another great read!
'and poetry is a dream
garbed in bilious words
whose raiment is laced
by meandering verse'..
Amen!
Thanks L.B. Mek. you are too kind.
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