once more to the breach
Of what poetic alchemy does this leaden torch
Transmute to golden lines, ear whisperings?
Do our hearts not skip a beat when the comfortable
Silence that is part of our poem's melody's weave,
Within its tapestry, are placed just so?
Is it not a pointless point, my pen's unending point
Does alight, for reading isn't hearing?
Is not a twig of poetree, earthen, sun sparked,
Skybound, too true to expound?
And when our heart gestures,
Bleeding ink lines dance,
Engraves such imagery in a mind's eye,
Feelings within a breast, bemusing the ear,
Do they not accompany
In the Spheres choreography?
Is nature not awoke
When bards extemporaneously
Evoke such wonder
That co-creation of the universe is quickened?
Ya got me!, a listener asserts
Dismissively, as the audience laughs.
Challenge :) Multi-phrase:
'bleeding ink'; with K.C.
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