Flash Poetry

Lines of lyrical foolishness,
seep from a wounded heart.

Wither the angered poet,
who senses not what is there:

Orange-glow sunsets,
laughter of children,
scent of a lover,
wine upon lips,
a rise of gooseflesh.

Consequence for what is forsaken,
screaming frustrations.

A quiet heart begs the answer:
shhhhh, listen.


J.C. Montgomery said...

Endlessly talented you are. This is stunning.

Miss Alister said...

What alchemy, what wind
on which to hear, base metals
transmitting gold, and elixirs
wafting, prolonging life’s love
granting the forsaken dream