Glorified Hermit
Entrance my heart oh silent air
my thoughts allowed to zoom and sail
to bounce off walls of self defeat
and rain back down in liquid sheets.
Like music lost in fingertips
which hum and rest upon my lips
but flee when passerby's arrive
to catch me at my most alive.
Thoughts which dwell in corner closets
dark and warm until I conjure
up their image in my dreams
although quite wide awake I be.
Mournful melody, thoughts of rhythm
surging from the lonely chasm
written out with shaking pencil
fast as they will let me catch them.
Sometimes thoughts come out in oils
sometimes they speak in watercolors
trees with roots running off the page
or a basket of apples in brown and sage.
That look you have with the sun in your eyes
or the mirror of canvas in bright green skies.
Then there are thoughts which will only let go
when the poetry pulls them and lets them flow.
Loosed they are known for sweeping statements grand
and building tall stories on shifting sand.
They won't blink an eye to a passerby
as strangers are known to occasionally lie.
They fuel up the music and hand art a brush
and glare at the air with an infinite "hush"!
For poetry, melody, painting uninhibited
is the limitless gift of the glorified hermit.
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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