• Tricia D. Wagner

Set the Night Singing #2.26

Updated: Oct 14


The writing –

sweet on fingertips –

on tongue,

in nascent state

storms listeners –

foreign sounds.

I strike the page

just left of meaning,

leave the chest

a skin drum singing,

and straight on to morning

I fly!

What taste they,

who eat words?

I've readied a banquet –

why comes trust

so abashed?

Why fails my own

heart?

The eaters do welcome,

once all is surrendered.

The self, I deface;

the bright talent, rough up.

Be meek – keep that power

well under control.

Only then, will they sport

with the writing.

© 2015 by Tricia D. Wagner. Proudly created with Wix.com

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