Formidable scribbles flicker and flash
at the edge of the ash-pit, hearth-light panache
licking and scratching out sparks from the briar
pistol whip cracking your faded flames higher.
Somewhere is seeking the lines of the smoulder
last writes are wreaking a cry on cold shoulder
joyously burning in orange sashay
trembling in twilight, cast out of our play.
Your poems are leaving, iridescent, divine
curling to heaven on the passage of rhyme.
About Me
- Calmant
- I read, I write, I do my arithmetic. I'm a pretty average person with an above average imagination. And I put it to pen. Expect more soon.
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