by Jade Jaspers
Where word and writer bond to make.
|So oft the mind spins words to phrase, when staring at a blank filled page, |
null and void of shape of word, silently longing from an urge,
of eternal voice of poet, who welcomes in the words bestowed it,
to put in type a set of the words, that must be wrote and can't be heard,
in the worlds of dazzling sights, where senses wake with visual delights,
but must be heeded all the same, to steady the yearnings of refrains,
voiced in mind when ere' is woke, the soul of poet so seldom spoke,
amidst the glamour of all that's seen that rush and fade to white washed dream.
While word and writer bond to make, a place for them to there create,
a memory of a time once shared, in friendship where for words they cared,
as guardians of the blessed gift, put to type and set adrift,
in turquoise seas of emerald shores where bade the life of every poet.