Red Spots Before Period

POET.

you speak of the centuries, poet,

and the winds bring the voice of your rhymes, austere

the murmur of letters drop, drip

of ink

of counting syllables,

syllabication

that moves her lips and contour

palate heaven

vetoing the air,

restricting vital memory, preventing the

heart beating until The verses flow like torrents

,

in abundance!

tearing the land and root

of trees cling to it,

tearing the clouds, causing

storms and hurricanes, or just touching,

with soft hands, the breeze

lend an ear to listen,

of eyes ready to read,

an articulated mouth,

slow or ill, the indefinable music

your inspiration shines.

Dalianegra Mayte.

Painting: "Erato muse of poetry" ("Erato Muse of Poetry"), 1870, Edward John Pointer.