A turnkey sparks the dragons
Where crystal twilight trickles.
Smeared shadows mourn looking glass—
Mother primes the engine,
Tear-laden, rain-streaked, the world—
Can you see it?
Where it falls
It dances on the starlight of our—
The child seeks winged flames
Wreathed and wrought of golden beams,
Of fancies crafted, never birthed
But it’s not there, it never were
It’s Neverwhere for a reason, not—
Do they pay for lies?
What is a truth but
Some vision we go weaving
Through the strands of our reality,
You can call strands what you will:
Good artists never see
Whole pictures till they’re through,
No more than wars and wyverns
Have the whole taste
Till the meal’s all burnt up.
It’s not a feast.
It’s nothing but.
Life is what you see.
Life is what you see—
But the picture’s spinning like a top
Balanced on the mind’s own eye.
* Got to get my writer’s self back into this blogging groove. It’s been a while since I’ve greeted you all with some poetry, so I hope you like this latest little bit of internal drama from this humble writer’s pen. Furthermore, I’m linking her up to the good folks at dVerse Poetry Pub, and tonight I do believe I’m going to go hunting back through all those other poets from whom I have been so long parted.
Additionally, I’m currently on the market for some good reading…if any of you have any writers or books to suggest, lay them on me, will you? I’m lost if I’m not feeding the literature beast within my soul!