O Breath, O Mirth!
A fugacious fugue
Declares itself the prelude to
The ever-growing, twisting snarl
That rises up from belly, gnarled
And gnawing, itching at the sides,
Reforming; in the mouth resides
A tongue which crafts that lovely sound,
That heavenly laughter - joy abounds.
And though that peal begins in ire,
Lips curve and anger yawns; expires.
I grasp your palm and kiss the lines
Doodled tenderly by some divine
Being, not from dusty tomes
But breathing in the earthy loam,
You shout in pure, boundless mirth:
A breathless dearth.
Gasping empty, effervescent;
Later, I contemplate the crescent
Moon that brightens up the night,
And to myself I thought I might
Give it up for all that blaze
That shines so from you lovely face.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
O Breath, O Mirth!, which
was posted on Mar 22, 2011 by
Miserabilia.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Imagery, Love / Romance, Simple Rhyme
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