hours drip slowly
onto a taunting empty page
the soul’s depictions brushed simply
a palette of whispered words
dry as if it were thoughts painted
onto a tightly stretched canvas
it's been said so many times before
similes,...
form clots at the tip of the quill
words,...
finally surrendering to gravity’s flow
as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations;
flooding the same stifled notions
another way into another moment
metaphorical sleights of hand
incarnate onto the absolving
sheet of parchment;
traces of past now’s ensconced
in considered words
miles of silent reverie,
spun,...
like a spider reprocessing,
carefully savoring
each fine silk thread of web,
spinning the womb of time...
© H.A. Rivers 2012 … All Rights Reserved
... dedicated to all lonely, wayfaring word whisperers,
lost within the silent confines of a bared soul