a poem



What is this magic, your melodies aisle?
I’m sure that it leads, if but for a smile.
A tearful eye, often dries at the altar,
Or held to a breath, it causes to falter.

Sometimes you chime and cast me aside.
Shewing a presence to chasten the pride.
Who wisps through my soul, an unseen stranger,
And ready to judge, disperses he danger.

Without trespass he mirrors, to offer reflection,
Turns the eye inward, and then at the tell,
I am but a piece and nothing is solid,
Now worries do vanish, all tolled in a spell.

Look! Make a wish, there’s a, “Love, love-me-not”,
Floating in hope from a fair maid forgot.
Longing to cotton in dreams and to tease,
Ushered in joy on a warm summer breeze.

Clap to apprise:
“There are more ways than one,
To battle against
And weather the storm!”

Ornament, instrument, tied with string?
Nay, your spirit enhances, it urges to sing.
And the blustering gusts have all blown their way,
Still, you remain now and blessèd the day!




by the disabled exile.



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