Quiet does this moment lie
when dusk surrenders to the night.
Soft the shadows gather ‘round
to blur the focused edge of light.
Subtle does the scent arise
from blossomed spring in calling.
Slow the breath of life unwinds
into this moment’s pleasure, falling.
Here the day’s repaired,
the tasking rendered ghost.
Here the soul drifts free from care,
granting what is needed most…
Cello… piano… wine… cigar…
silent in release… reflecting…
moonlit clouds… revealing star…
free to dream, heart selecting
memories of love and youth,
rolling through suspended truth…
…until the music fades…
with only blood dripped stains of wine
to count the scattered ashes,
to count the precious moments played,
mixed throughout the ink’s dark splashes
in what this heart has spilled
upon this page in poetry filled.
8 responses to “Poet’s Night”
Only in the night can you really get the blood into the ink.. Love your write
Thanks Bjorn, it’s the only time I seem to get… but how it suits… Thanks for visiting.
What a tremendously smooth flow and rhythm this piece has. Beautiful word craft.
Thank you… it is my night… thanks for joining me.
First off, I’m jealous because I didn’t write this, think to write this, or remotely write like this, second, its what I feel poetry should be, poetic beauty.
LOl! You crack me up! Thank you for such an overwhelmingly beautiful comment… Always appreciate you, my friend.
Oh such perfect timing
Thank you so very much sir. Hope all is well with you and yours brother.