Stories
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.
Another piece of work from the archive: