Where do the Words Come From?

He asks me, he insists –
“Where do the words come from?”
And I answer him
“They are hidden in the lining of my soul,
threadbare and worn”;
I say
“Like oysters on the bed of the sea,
hiding away their pearls;
If you try to tear at the words,
they will snap shut;
Or like the bashful birds,
they will fly and swirl,
and never give up;
But for me,
they do, they do,
open their petals,
with the gentlest touch;
And let me suck,
out the candied nectar of their poems”;

“And look,
in the garden of moons and stones,
fireflies, those which have not yet flown,
are weaving the letters, together,
their patterns,
are aquamarine, tranquil shores;
And I lay basking,
in the glory of this;
The creation and the created,

He nods slowly, he knows.

© soulreserve 2015

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *