Waxing Lyrical.

Water_witch-2by Abigael16 Dec 2014

My overloaded brain
is stuffed with words,
are they trifles - or truffles?
In the heat of passion
it's like unscrambling eggs.

Soundscapes are tuned
in to cadence and rhythm.
Words mutate, facilitate ,
a new draft clues in, to pace,
discovering form and face.

I wrestle words into place :
words to pierce the truth -
to stun, surprise, or caress,
might be serious - or in jest.
Dulcet words spun softly

on a quavering silver tongue
the poem becomes a song.