A Poet’s Dream

I dreamed of writing poetry

like stitching cloth together

with rhyming of fine silk

the body softest leather.


Green silk at the beginning

its texture smooth and taut

with golden thread and needle

the layered lines were caught.


Then rows of turquoise ruffles

like waves upon a sea

deftly sewn like stanzas

with branches from a tree.


Hints of sadness here and there

dark patches glued to leather

meant to hold the broken heart

or mend it back together.


Silver threads of metaphor

held the hem in place

while peeking out beneath it

analogies of lace.


Sturdy threads of quatrain

woven through the whole

kept the meter buttoned up

in apertures of soul.


And then the piece was finished

a garment rife with verse

astonishing as triolet

yet subtle and so terse.


It wrapped around my spirit

with words of silken time

to settle peacefully at my feet

a tailored garb of rhyme.

poets dream



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