Never one for mere books on shelves,
I’ve always been one who delves,
ever deeper here inside,
where poetry and secrets hide.
Weaving words meant to last,
I braid present, future, and past
in a mélange meant to endure,
capturing echoes forever pure.
So that I may bleed upon the page,
leave my mark for some distant age,
when all these lines I now savor
might someday return back to favor.
Sealing fine lines within a book,
preserved for that one closer look,
bound within this poetic mosaic,
safe from the mundane, the prosaic.
Now, each stanza a tethered thread,
a bridge between the unborn and the dead,
for every verse that I now dare write
keeps my ink alive through the night.
You capture echoes past and present divinely, S.
You know, if you read this poem quickly, it gives me the impression that she had to get it out because something imminent is about to happen. Good spill
Wonderfully executed. Nice work.
I like the way the commas
hold the piece together…
While the line breaks
moderate the rhythm…
Nice metapoetics…
Brilliantly penned, LDF. Love the flow. Appreciate you.
Damian