Wooden Whispers

I speak the language of trees

My graphite rustling

Murmuring softly, as footsteps in autumn do

Subtle as the earth, who

Is awaiting your final embrace

Even when I appear to be silent

I am full of song

A field wild with bloom through which you wander

These pages, gossamer as the wing of a moth

Are holding an anticipatory breath

Until your judgement can no longer lend it’s ear

Then my shy melody will come bursting forth

In riddles of rhyme, convoluted contortions

Scribed on the temple walls of my body

Flickering behind my eyelids

Twisting into tortured question marks

Every time my ink sodden notebook

Confronts a keyboard

 

 

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