The Conjuring
Cinnamon and clover lingers on my breath,
a reminder of power that lies dormant.
Building …
hesitating…
yet still being fed.
The wrangler of such petulant magick
understands that spells have wings to fly.
Building…
levitating…
taking to the air.
Respect the ability to maintain control
letting it all go and pulling it back in again.
Building…
decompressing…
breathing.
That is the conjuring.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
