Words of Grain, and of sand.
Grasp at the fringes of that fluid piety.
Sigh as you must, shudder down it does from your hand.
As it falls to the stone, from whence came it’s variety.
A fathomless expanse
Of deep blue, thoughts on unknown trajectory
Almost recalled, then returning in trance
Receding from the shores of your memory
Drops on a wave, dust on a teardrop.
Caverns of darkness pale to your unknown woe
Sinking below the depths, do your creations seed, from then to crop.
Yet you strike the earth, yearning for more to know.
Forged of pressure, constant in fault.
Unforgiving surface, braden with cold face of stone.
Oh rock, lay there as did years before do exalt!
What were you before words made you rough and lifeless, before that was sewn?
An object of constant state
A mountain, stable in its own form solid.
Context an avalanche, sending words down the cliff of twisted fate.
A rock, and the place it shelters so squalid.
Words burn the lungs that breathe them life
And exhume the direction they are spoken.
Charred in ashes, felt in droves is another dragons strife.
Held close, the stoked wood of your heart is now but a token.
Consuming the fuels, instigating the fumes a wreckless bearing.
Wise Willows planted years before, now victim to a stringing hunger charred.
The forest is her victim, the death of their seed and meaning make her flaring.
Free of growth and filled of wilted corpses. Tell me, was useless slander worth to bombard?
Seedlings, dreaded yet flowing in the wind make their virus savory.
Weightless and suspended on a cloud of teardrops, crying out in thunderous coy.
Now, ****** grasses waving in that same messenger wind now have these Seedlings bravery.
Their Mother flower wilts, farther from home they have landed and balance destroy.
Breathed into the ethos, the flight of birds a second sun to the world.
They are the kings of the cloud, without much grudges beyond that sky.
Drenched in wind, yet free from a direction change and wings no longer curled.
Their songs water the grounds, without much hint of lisp, ***** or things awry.
A poem collaborated with Sehar. Simple rhymes, and about the nature of words.
