Sated within an arrested moment
High on a hill is where these words find today, and it’s wondrous to hear words drawn from different wells, filling, spilling over in lines as a poetic flow tempers such a carriage, an artful presence sated within an arrested moment.
Here, descending the hill, old floor boards dry as bones, slip harsh withered splinters through feet, while to read aloud turning tongue around unfamiliar words, a delight came in the challenge just to get them right, though bludgeoned by voice several times, eventually to find resolve and let them flow, once more here in the tropical evening shade.
Here, nearing the bottom of the hill, my feet bleeding on rubble pavement and twisted glass shards, to find a fest in words and lines, coloured, flavoured within the deepest of wild dark cherry wines, a fine morbid writers table, to find one seated at, being waited on while served six courses, upon fine cyanide laced platters, a delectable meal to choice indeed. Weary though time is, leaning here against a tropical breeze.