Words have too much power,
I carve their altars and find myself
worshipping them in mornings,
Who made these marigold nosegays?
I want to write poems until I see
the quiet inbetween monsoon days,
the pepper on a lover's lips,
but I am an impatient priest today,
I know to run before my Gods awaken
to the bells I string between borders,
before they claim my fractured soul,
fill the valleys with my silences,
possess my bones to voice melancholy,
my books are religion I will not preach,
my Muse is beauty I will not teach.
Image Source: The Dance of Good and Evil by Curtis Verdun
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