The words fall into place, the race to get the rhythm of the lonely night
in sight, as we saunter down the velvet images of life
one by one, we gather beads of memories
and string them in a ring, surrounding the flight of sight
and sounds jangling with verses and decibels
of dreams that we master in a magical essay of lines.
The sense follows, dense meaning as we write with a crutch
of pain, polish and much for all that we demolish will
stand, oh so grand, when finished, be replenished
carving the content with careful intent
into substances of delight insight!
Once more the anthem that I sing, will bring
us closer together in any sort of weather
wind, rain or shine, cold damp or distress.
hold, lo and behold, even as we carve symphonies
of stanzas and bonanzas of poems with some skill
that you cherish, flourish and thrill.
Lets write with the might and that inbuilt body of
words that soar like the birds o'er ocean and sky
and deep down into chasms of despair and doom
the sadness and the gladness, the pain and the gain
all within the sin, and the song the lust and the bust
that are tools that we use, we cannot refuse to
play in this way, every day until done with the fun
of a poem each day- any which way.
Begin.
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© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a day ago