Flushed hands spill passion, softly wild
In languid explosion words rise
With heaves of angst and rapture piled,
Spewing phrases... untamed, unwise.
As rhymes burst, whirls form in my chest
From twilight laced ...hours rile again,
Down fingertips my soul’s unrest
To bathe on verses from dripped pen.
A language of fire scents my mood
That aches when love and rage entwine;
Till inspiration blooms, renewed
Beneath stars, veiled words lift my spine.
In the marrow, blot of ink clears
Offering a page new frontiers.
Regina Riddle's Writing Contest