Chill winds rush this empty heart
whispering its ebony night,
hooks upon the wall mourn, weightless.
Dust collects on window sashes,
water pipes rust, roof shingles
fall like lost teeth and the hearth
remains in cold ashes.
Scarcely inhabited, its stones begin to crumble.

Come sweet knight, on gallant horse
sure footed without stumble,
thump through the door
pop the cork of earthenware vessel,
pour warm red wine, toast this heart to rumble.

Charge its pump, generate the muse,
stoke its fire, smoke its stacks,
heat the stones, steam its flesh
and fuel the nib with power.
Raise it up on heightened breath,
Impregnate its night with words
conceived for delivery to parchment
by the hour.

Let the treasure seeds tumble,
resting in inspirations lap,
growing light of its pink-golden dawn
lighting each randomly.
Germinate forth from bursting skins
in textured color and form, each a sparkle
to the chandelier of poetry and prose;
to the poet each piece a rose.

09/25/2001

Posted on 09/25/2001
Copyright © 2025 Audrey M Scott