Grown from the seed of a book,
blood of ink, and whisper pages
of imagination my wings carry me
through sky that searches my skin
for poetry to hold the moon
when the stars can’t breathe.
Sonnets pool on my eyelids in histories
written from sorrow’s tears and
the bright glitter of love’s eternity.
I’m as insignificant as dust and as grand as sunrise,
a soul dancing in shoes worn by ancestors
who trusted tomorrow would arrive in a dandelion.
Comments
"my wings carry me
through sky that searches my skin
for poetry to hold the moon
when the stars can’t breathe,"
Wow!!😍😍
when the stars can’t breathe" This is definitely the best I read today.
I like to read what the prompter writes to mind the prompt. Back in old OSI days I sort of had an idea, a possible theme, whe a few times my prompt suggestion was used.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
..
through sky that searches my skin
for poetry to hold the moon
when the stars can’t breathe."
Just one example of the the beauty of this poem.