An arrow nock Ready to fire Before the bow is knocked And its path is set on fire Its direction is thrown astray
By Mellabout a year ago in Poets
What's not but nil That stands still And fires a stray arrow Through velvet hair It pierced the air And hit a shot most narrow
Candle burns bright, Through a garden of flowers, Lilacs, hydrangeas, lilies, Bleeding hearts of red and black, Seeping down the warmed wax,
Origami king Folds his papers tight Tightly moving round and round Folding, molding, sculpting masterpieces with expert precision
What is a poet? A writer of dreams? A speaker of lies? A heart of many feelings Pouring out onto paper? It’s all of these things
Shivers of terror Run through Earth’s spine Curled in as a newborn As moon light hits upon her delicate back A storm is coming