the bones of poetry

a mystic spider
Creeps
across a
page
and weaves
silver and gold

a tongue
Licks
sacred lips
and truth spills
in waterfalls
of ice cool
metaphor

an eye
Blinks
aperture captures
rainbows in reverse,
verse
in hues
from onyx black
to cerulean blue

a voice
Speaks
and silence
tells a story
hidden
in the blank
spaces
of beautiful brevity,

she is
the bones
of
Poetry.

-dave kavanagh

4 thoughts on “the bones of poetry

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