Thursday, January 2, 2020

Bottomless Think-well...


 Seems a ton of these are written regularly...
Moaning like a wind through winter trees



Love hones its works of art
Where ink of highs and lows
Becomes a poem in the heart
That word cannot compose

It runs its fingers through
Places we cannot find
And surges like a sea, deep blue
Through channels of the mind

Its broken dreams are strewn
Beneath time’s tender toll
It gleams in salty sparkles hewn
Like diamonds from the soul

It wells and spills within
Torrent of grin and grit
That fills a book beneath our skin
With poems never writ

© Janet Martin


No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!