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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.

Dallas Beth Williams Gibson



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