I steep in the afternoon sun,
cup of tea in hand,
and become an island of one
In my mind, one thousand and one
images evoked of you
One thousand harps play
through dark matter
One thousand mirrors sparkle
in the light of day
Unlike many a life's journey,
it all began with early trespasses
against the heart;
an uncertain perforated hull,
forever impaired the ship from sailing
Inevitably, the means to travel
transformed -
rather a steamship lugging along
an unnamed winsome river
Without gigantic sails to navigate
more easily the curves,
it's a wonder to have come thus far -
when it was Magellan whom we
set out to be -
upon the rugged sea
What befell us left us breathless
and out of sync, agog,
ardently grasping,
as opposed to better halcyon days
The question begs an answer;
will the truth yet be known -
of little hurts that negated the essence
of us?
All we strove for and stood for,
everything we were,
cut down like tall grass
by a sharp scythe, minimized
Sadly, the polish that was there
was rubbed away, tarnished
Under appreciated,
we became an unused silver tea set,
on the shelf, worse -
melted, sold, given away,
or pushed aside
Nevertheless, we strive to survive
simply and quietly,
unrecognized
by the one thousand and one souls
passing by,
who otherwise might stop to say hello,
join us as we steep in the afternoon sun,
cups of tea in our hands
Today Anna has us writing about diction, our favorite words that give our poems a certain flow. Somewhere I have a list of them, and few come to mind now that I must think of them, but I like the spontaneous "freedom of continuous, meandering thought" dversepoets.com
