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
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!