The Heart of a Poet

Dried leaves,
Autumns township
Kindled by a night of prayer,
In his own shade
The seared breast
Laced with desires spine,
The Poet’s golden horn swoons,
Spreading its wings
Turning in, a silenced pedestal
Fragranced with bouquets
Of invading beauty
Until, the heart opens it
And we all follow…

 

 

(c) A Hannan

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9 thoughts on “The Heart of a Poet

  1. Autumn leaves, rustic tune falling to life
    On Poet’s altar resting, sheathed from strife
    As fire gentle, flows, smoke scent, this morn
    On waterwheel, turns, Poetry, my wife.

    My Poetry is…

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