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What is real within dream...
The vision, the scent,
the taste of dreamscape's apple
crisp with sin's tart intent?
Or be it soft feathers or angels singing
their voice one golden thread
be it an intuitive lock
the key a poets tongue?
Where is the wing when not a bird
the song when not a sparrow?
Why do we cry in sentences?
Our sorrow hungry s(words)
piercing the silence like black birds
crying into darkness
if only to be h(ear)d
(previously published in Edgar Allen Poet)
copyright 2012
Apryl
Skies |
