To the Reader

To the Reader

Take my steaming after thoughts

Trinkets of time and time turned still

Tho silent-standing, my Voice takes ill:

Haunting, to wait in a bated breath.

Do envision these sounds, that from lips do weft

Tightly bound letters and sounds like breeze

Til etch by sketch these words to fall to

Your innermost 'scapes brushed soft

With the pain of a flowering start

I offer you in slipping hands

Nothing sweeter, more bitter, more stuck

Than i, a poet, to touch

You, the reader. A breather, may even surpass

My lifeline torn.