Apr 2015
I miss the lesions
miss the scars
fresh & bleeding
like soothing arms
enclosing tight
wrapping the pain
in the rapture of night
My wine's heat
surfaces the memories
I've kept beneath
my high wall of stone
But, tonight
the trees are gone
and the grapes are ripe
& the wine in my mind
grasps its time
to spill my verse
like rain upon the Earth
falling on my pages
the truth is clear
- unadulterated -
like my passion.
It, too, is caged
too fierce, too strong
like a lion, enraged
trapped in mediocrity
within my rib cage
Now, it roars
usually, howls
when can it soar?
Where are you now?
122303~6.57p
miss the scars
fresh & bleeding
like soothing arms
enclosing tight
wrapping the pain
in the rapture of night
My wine's heat
surfaces the memories
I've kept beneath
my high wall of stone
But, tonight
the trees are gone
and the grapes are ripe
& the wine in my mind
grasps its time
to spill my verse
like rain upon the Earth
falling on my pages
the truth is clear
- unadulterated -
like my passion.
It, too, is caged
too fierce, too strong
like a lion, enraged
trapped in mediocrity
within my rib cage
Now, it roars
usually, howls
when can it soar?
Where are you now?
122303~6.57p
writing about writing & how wine facilitates my muse to be raw & unfiltered (unlike herb, which directs to more creative & introspective muse.) Some verses reference back a line, as though it's the last line of the previous verse & first of the new. I know--a little confusing.
