Words
I paint a picture with words,
The colours stir and splash.
A thick line and a thin one,
A dot, a ragged dash
Syllables, blue consonants,
Come pouring from my pen,
A textured vowel, an open 'o',
Sibilance, and then,
The poem seems to peter out.
The flow of words has ebbed.
As we will meet our maker soon,
Each 'a' will meet its 'z'.
No comments:
Post a Comment