Monday, October 19, 2015


And, still, what I don't understand
Is poetry's impelling hand
What is this urge to bare the soul
What is this surge that makes me whole
Sometimes the meaning's hidden well
It flashes high to cast its spell
So oft the meaning's clear as glass
I write the words and watch them pass
But, read it once, a brook is seen
The second time, a silken screen
'Tis magic of a different kind
My soul's far depths are intertwined
I paint the life with bright precision
And cast a spell of passioned vision
It sparkles at the fingertips
I spark a star, the words eclipse
At times the meaning's buried deep
I wade in far from shores too steep
I recognize the coral reef
It stands out now in bas-relief
But, look again, and it is gone
The firefly's light on summer's lawn
Or, like a glance at autumn's dawn
I sketch the tale, with charcoal drawn
For, now, such massive beauty there
Is rendered bright with massive care
And now, at last, a moment's peace 

The words are laid, a short surcease


© 2012 whickwithy

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