It was a dark and rainy early Saturday morning
that I felt the rejuvenating movement of air fan the cinders of my soul
on the side of the fire neglected for only a short while,
yet the glow that yearns the most to be fed seems overly sensitive to the cold.
My muses knew and rose to perform the effortless, second-nature ritual
as the hiss of the coffee pot like water drops tempered all other sides of the fire,
and Poetry puffed up its orange-and-gray-feathered embers
as twelve days of life-buyness’s still air gave way to weekend’s rising
wind igniting creative passion’s desires.
Finally again: a moment in time
to exhale that pent-up lyrical sigh.
My breath gives life.
Yes! This one resonants so deeply.
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This is stunning. Such a wonderful thing you’ve penned. So lyrical and fulfilling. Kudos mate.
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“Poetry puffed up its orange-and-gray-feathered embers” – love this imagery!
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Very beautiful.
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