A suggestion of shape
Fills a void
In the corner of the room.
Fiend? Friend or foe? Fie!
Language is impoffible
In worlds where the long ess lurks.
Thorns prick and bleed,
Though they gather stealthily
In throaty, thoughtful, hefty thomes -
Er, tomes -
And give us pseudo-archaic terms
To wrangle, like “Ye Olde Tavern.”
Frantic scribbling fills the void,
Skitterings of a scratching quill
Quell the snappish words
And pin them to a page.
Fear not, word-butterflies,
You rise and soar
When read, released,
Softly glowing with illumination,
Knowledge, understanding.
Limning dark corners-
Where resides nothing
But cobwebs.
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
Keep reading
More stories from Meredith Harmon and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (2)
Those words which must be writ lest of slumber we be left bereft.
These words hit so right… limning! I forgot this gorgeous one. Love your poem ☺️