She is words, eternal, made of wild
and flame offering touch so bright,
dispels silhouette of woe. As rose is
unfinished without its thorns, my
muse revels when her lustre is born.
Autumn adorned with moss and gold
reminds of tales which once were told.
She’s gentle rain on shriveled ground,
fidelity and hope her melodious song.
She knows me as a woman knows her
strength, urging boldness clear out of
its stifling den as wave’s wayward with
-out resolute shore, my muse revels
when her rage is born.
She is words eternal, made of wild
and flame, breathing hymn and prayer
into a restless mind. As moon’s bereft
without accompanying stars, my muse
revels with her softening heart.
November blooms despite augural skies
as love bears weight of wanton sighs.
I’m ardor fueled by word’s solicitous gaze,
through wary nights and endless days.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Magaly invites us to ‘art our loves with words in them’.. I chose to portray my love
for words and how they fuel my passion for writing in return.
Posted for the Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads