Touch the Words In Braille

Awake through afternoons and ageless nights, the poet waits for a muse to sneak. His brumous mind reminisces, frantically exploring a galaxy of words. He looks for a lofty mountain hiding in the fog. He looks for a crimson fireball hiding in the ember. Wriggles out of the cocoon, in swirls of slow steps, tiptoeing in twirls, shriveled and fragile, the butterfly beau. He looks at it in passion...with lover's eyes.... Oh!, the poem is still in a grey stupor state. He sews embroidered thoughts... Stroked in color, the canvas now veiled, scrambled cryptic, his emotions corralled. The enslaved bird in his heart, was now a fugitive, singing a pellucid song of sweet somber notes. A virgin music now played in the air, Thrumming hearts rhyming in bewitched rhythm. Invisible wind nestled the hair, he could see the poem smiling. Silent wind rustled the tree, he could hear the poem whispering. Like a blind man enlightened in a dark room, he could feel the poem coming alive. He could touch the words in Braille, the cradle of blind love, caressed the poet's tale. Resubmited on April 1st 2019/ 2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney Written on 9th January 2019 Placed 8th in Chantelle Anne Cookes Favorite Free Verse Contest Placed 6th in Mark Toney2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 13 Contesy