The Rift
Through the torn surface with edges curled
I writh, through the never ending rift of light.
The torn sheath, its parchment colored white
beckons, surface fears squirm in angst unfurled.
With edges curled, adepts display the night.
I writh, diving inward laughing, almost contrite
through the never ending spiral, I am hurled.
Rifts of light on onyx night chose to reunite,
within the torn sheath a birthing infinite.
I writh, its parchment, a mere veneer, parts swirled
colored white,as dense as night, its content bright
beckons, bringing finer truths to all that's right,
through the torn surface with edges curled.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 7/31/13
Contest:GLIMPSES OF EPIPHANY
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