Exalted Breath

This story needs no end,
no beginning.
It’s the song inside that thrives to be kissed alive—
and flows with a kind of magic
no warlock or witch could tame.

It beats to the heart inside the flame
of life.
A sleeping beauty with eyelids open—
just awaiting the Prince to rescue the
words lost in deep sleep.

Pulled out of dormancy, words can hide,
can lie.
Words can tug a truth from the rhyme
and find hope in the screams
of broken hearts, broken souls
and open minds.

The beauty will rise
will seethe.
To seed the minds of the young
with the old
wizened eyes of our breed.

This is the swell of breath in passion,
in dreams.
We are spared a commoner’s death
by the richness of language—
the languid disease of our intellect.

­­­­