A Labour of Love Recited
What intimacy is its cause,perhaps
an immaculate conception of words;
too swift to comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment is there
and then is not.Gone with the wind
the seed of idea remains, to
germinate and gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of elation.Slowly
self-transcending a word into a phrase,
a sentence to a strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of cadence,
into a chasm of verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet becomes a little song,
struggles to arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a bastard-born of pain,
ancestry unknown,no more to roam
Hear me read this poem aloud here http://youtu.be/GiD8JdYi-jw
and my other video poetry at this link
http://youtube.com/ichthyschiro
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2013
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