Poem of the Month
Silent Poetry
She paints
to feel the art flow
through deep caverns
of mind and motion,
sense the birth and closure
of restless lives
she has lived and
watch mature
Her brush is a scepter
governing masses
of self-reproach and denial,
conducting choirs
of inner curiosity
coveting the music
each stroke sings
to her obedient canvas
Pensive stirs
her saffron and old gold,
longing begs
another swipe of crimson
and through a medley
of color and element,
she reaches fulfillment
and remedy
to disjointed memories
encircling
her concealed composition
copyright 2001
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