Red Ink of Madness
Often I have dreamt of words..
Embellished with stitches...
Amidst the red ink of madness..
Like an octopus's arms unfolding..
Whilst hearkening to the quivers...
Of voices jade and eager to settle
Mid the overawe grasp of a nettle..
A sleeveless cloak childishly clear...
Cunning apt untouched by tombs..
Sifting 'pon undressed and pure...
Ere the labored throb of passion..
Left to lie 'pon the sleeping tongue..
Only to be sewn and drawn by poise..
Highly-wrought amidst winged dreams..
Awaiting their native strands of soil..
Worth mentioning twixt stage and pen...
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