Strings of life grow up to be leaders
Appointing and anointing your future
They trail and sail through your past
Tails of thought that make you laugh at the expanding class of how much you learned
Some will go backward but I clutch the wheel, looking forward
Towards dreams tucked in twisty corridors
Leading to mounds of keys that have barely kissed their doors
Occasionally exploring my patched leaflets of memories
Stemming with foggy chapters
The only story captor is my brain
Which claims this precious strips of velvet that it pin onto my creations
Stationed at the dock and ready to be cast to the nations
Bundles of ideas
Stocked and pressed with care into messy pages
Gauges are checked and set to prepare the everlasting ages
For my poems
Brooke Leath
No comments:
Post a Comment