Her

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In honor of Dylan Thomas, who changed all the rules, mixed verse and meter to suit the flow of words that light his magic rhyme. A more electric voice in modern English language, I've yet to find.

 

Around her mind
the sound of angel’s wings, find
a ready spirit, one who throws arms open
to a cloudy feathered sky of hope,
golden in exuberance to cope
with daily tests
of such things a poet drapes with praise, she tips
the vase of plenty
to her lips,
drinks the sweetness found within;
a life worth living, rather than
surrender to the fault found in sin
that nestles in the minds of men far weaker.
See the heat that fires passions, lights the skies;
she writes to bring each seeker
to the vision of her life, to hear the song
angels sing before she dies.

*

©
david coyote
September 1, 2001

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