Poet Wandering

Poet Wandering

Envisioned through the whispering fronds,

A moon low in the heavens,

Sequestered in gray,

Cast back to blue-black.

Rise to my window

At the peak of morning ascending,

Call forth the poet wandering,

To render words into form.

Paint with fingers light,

Tracing the heaven-borne image,

Washed upon a parchment,

Framed in gentler dreams.

Call forth the poet wandering,

The poet waiting,

To cast forth the net of creativity,

In an evening tide.

Comments 3 comments

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Hyphenbird 5 years ago from America-Broken But Still Beautiful

Oh yes, often it seems the creation that is birthed on paper comes from the heavens. Indeed it is so because God gives us that gift of words.

Your lovely poem makes me want to write. Thank you:)


Bren 5 years ago

'Call forth the poet wandering'..... Beautiful!

:)


Poetic Fool 5 years ago

Beautiful, simply beautiful. Wonderful imagery of the poet awaiting inspiration. Loved it.

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