Storytelling
Stories Never Really End.
We still hear stories
That have always been told,
Just with different names
& different faces
In different places.
Under
A muse’s beguiling spell,
Conceive losing yourself,
Drenched in a trance – like
A fervid ventroloquist –
Recite & write as
A scribbling quill unites
An interfusion of thoughts
That eventually coalesce
Into a logical pattern –
A perfect moment,
Impeccable timing,
Pedantic precision.
Nature bestowed a favor,
Now scratched on paper
An ideal wove & set –
Now ready to activate
In random minds:
A theory of something
Impelling the forlorn.
New infernal amazements?
Inviolable entertainment?
Encrypted stories remain
Twisted, as aforementioned
Unless
In a syncopated space
& riddled with grace,
We are exposed to a tale,
Transformed irrefragibly,
So masterfully
That it truly dazzles thee,
Extending the portable ladder
Beyond what you see.
Then we may contemplate,
Scaling the ancient azure.
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