When I am done writing this, with Hermes, news will arrive
The days dancing in delicate limbo
It might come by way of fire, as one tower illuminating another
Or by way of a marathon across open fields, or travel on a ship of merchant yields
Courier or town gossip churning an ocean of upheaval, messengers abound.
The paper might disintegrate
or grow into a tornado
Quiet
might
pass
through a multitude of mediums, restlessness running
past
the
void
crumpling the news into a ball or buring the wax sealed parchment
Its newness infiltrating every atom of this universe.
Is there another?
Hope comes through the lips of a traveling bard
Like Aneirin turing news unto art,
singing battles cries of the soul,
the understanding of a gentle heart
sweetened by the song of sea,
Hermes found the green wave colored tortoise shell and made the lyre with its empty eternal home
playing melodies as
sands of time and memory glistened
The radio plays a Stevie Wonder song
"I just called to say, I love you"
Are they still sending messages from heaven?
The poet makes paper peonies and poppies,
blood and tears shaping their lines
Immutable, yet mutable
swords and sweet songs
Does the quill conquer or quell?
How dare I doubt the messenger
I throw the crumpled ball away
live the stories another day,
A clean sheet sits in the typewriter
waiting to be transformed
#poetry #Thursdaypoetrysociety #writing
Thursday Poetry Society Prompt: "I will crumple it into a ball and throw it away.
image by Steve Johnson, Unsplash
