|
The Writers Chamber |
| To Enter the Chamber . . . rising with gossamer wings, |
| with nimble fingers ….. I free the latch. |
The Door swings wide ... and in its wake |
| sweeps aside ... all things conventional. |
| Girded with precious purpose … all else viewed as mundane, |
| my feet lift over the threshold. |
| my parched brow welcoming each cool shadow of this hollowed place. |
Reverently I yield ... allowing this other "Self" to touch, |
| uncoiling the binding shroud; |
| soul and mind unfolding ... heeding the call, |
answering, the buried boiling sweet. |
| Reaching with joy and tender fingers |
| I grasp Inspiration’s Silver Silken Cord. |
| My other "Self" . . . so long denied, perfumed with wisdom’s patience, |
| succoring and tending ... |
| guarding a depleted heart, |
| ever constant ….. alive, waiting ... silently narrating |
| unfurls the Cord. |
| Jasmine breezes sing while we entwine, |
| this "Writer Self" and I ... |
| weaving the Silver Cord through twin fingers, |
| 'round twin-yielding frames. |
| Securing the strong satin with Primrose knots, |
| flowers of obedience and revelation. |
|
Willing ... once again ... I live within the chamber ... |
| soul and mind unfolded ... yielding to sweet flow. |
| the cost counted … the toll accepted. |
| rmored with tunneled resolution ... embracing and accepting, |
| I welcome ... the Chamber’s test. |
| Ah … yes ... the Chamber’s test . |
| Exuberant frames of inspiration ... precede dark blades of dumb fatigue. |
| White hot, joyful suspension ... drops with lightening thrusts to despair. |
| The Chamber’s fountain ….. bursting upward to cascade ‘cross dry creeks of pages, |
| trickles then, in softer weary rivulets,down to midnight’s desperate drowning pool. |
|
Only the Silver Silken Cord remains, |
| woven and bound with the primrose knots. |
| Holding strong. |
| Lifting me ... once again ... eager |
| to lift my pen. |
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