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from one “to young” to write a poem
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reworked vintage
From One “Too Young” To Write A Poem
The cool glass carafe trembles in my hand—
wine-stained lip’s tang on my tongue.
Candid words are all you need.
A hush falls like dusk
before
astute ears
ratify my first breath.
Unwritten.
Inward rivers gush—
ink surges from pen to paper,
the flutter of page corners promising more.
Sweat thaws frozen brows
as awkward ripples of thought
stir beneath the skin.
Eloquence reverberates.
No escape.
And yet,
ink-dropped dreams settle in the sand—
quiet now, but not forsaken.
Tomorrow’s dawn will dredge them free,
and I will write.
.
