“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, March 31, 2019
reception
I was called upon
to light the candles
I arose first
to a voice
in the dark
and listened
Over my right shoulder
and above
whispers
as a breeze
would hum
and falls across my skin
like daybreak
It was not necessary
to know
more than could be heard
and I do not ask
for repetition
as in prayer
for a sign
a flicker as sure as
aglow,
I kept
quiet, in order
to Here myself
saying 'Yes'
while carrying the flame.
Painting by Godfried Schalcken, c. 1670-1675 in [Public domain].
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
No comments:
Post a Comment