A Palmful of Metaphors
A Palmful of Metaphors
I’d like a palmful of metaphors,
Ones to use every time
I put a pen to a page,
To plant in my heart
And become submerged in my hope,
My pride and my sadness,
Sprouting ideas for me to translate
Into words tangible for a poem,
The blossoms stories
That have a direct thread,
Carefully spun gold,
To my heart,
Carrying back the excess words
To water the ones just beginning;
I’d like torn pages
With verses written plainly,
But with the meaning
Needing the love mapped by creases
In order to arise;
A watch that's glass will chip
Away with time,
A band creased
And frayed
With every moment
I never want to forget;
A pen that’s just the right weight
To match that of words,
With ink that makes stories
Look too perfect for stories,
So that I have to smudge them
With my palm
To make them tied
To my heart.
The Voice
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