Poetry (SolisCantio)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
How being a poet feels to me.

Submitted: December 17, 2014

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Submitted: December 17, 2014



I have found you, broken-winged bird,
in a land where the ink never dries,
where eyes never open,
or perhaps simply where the sky is always black.

Where nighttime is an adventure and 
daylight is a bore,
where we are all simply smoke dancing in mirrors,
or fragments of sunlight visible only for a fleeting moment. 

Where souls are like twisting wrought-iron statues,
beautiful, but too melancholy for most,
standing motionless and silent, 
but oddly proud and perhaps a bit eager
in the light of the waning sun.

Where we speak with lingering looks 
and smoldering eyes
like the embers at the bottom of an ancient fire.

If you can read the language of the hopelessly lost,
then I am delighted to invite you in 
for a midnight cup of tea.

But, if you feel that you have no business
amongst the wonderstruck,
then I do wish you the best as you make your way home
alone in the blackest, coldest, deepest of nights.

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