Out of the threads of darkness
The shreds and shards of broken words
Ever seek new dawns in the flush and
And fresh bloom that may emerge
In a flood of beautiful things. Its perhaps,
The illusions of all poets,painters, that create
From silence and oblivion the rich light
That sweeps away the spread darkness of
Yet another depressed day,and from some
Invisible passion,from the splendor of some
Sightless realm there unfolds spellbound words
That leap like crowned queens and
Rainbows across the naked page, words the
Color of new wine, in gold cups, in verse
Dressed in utopian robes rolls down through the ages
Scrolled amongst the immortals in a form of glory
Bursts and swells in crimson sunsets that stretch
The dark windows of the poet's mind, out of the threads
Of darkness, emerges poems in the purity of gold.
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