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, fealty 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 without 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