An Inclination Through Senses

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An

Inclination 

Through Senses

A poem by: Arbor Holcomb

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The embers engulf the conèd chalk

As ashes doth lie in their creeping wake;

Ponder over the past, to thyself- a talk

Release mine burdens, a preordainèd break.

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I sit, breathing in some redolent trail

The aroma consumes me, enlightens;

I rewind the cassette tape as mine heart doth wail

Lyrics purge the gloom, mine own day brightens.

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A feeling of dismality, fargone-

Pages on pages of words now written;

A cryptic record of thoughts doth spawn,

Incense and music hath drawn inspiration.