Friday, December 12, 2014

Moment




Fractured light
swans along the hills,
Leaps and ebbs
like feathered fire.
Knee deep in wooded awe, 
we peer into the lapis haze above.
Divine artist, roaring 
down the corridors of time
burning cold as serpent's scales,
Your hands, your brush, they crackle.
Touch you, and we burn;
Look on you, we stay.
You charm us with your song,
Asking nothing for our passage 
but our love.



3 comments:

  1. A wonderful definition of a poets reason for poetry. To touch, to illumine, to paint pictures.

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  2. Asking nothing for our passage but love... Yes!

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  3. just beautiful.....so many blossoms in these words....

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