Black wing, black wing, we stroke in search of sleep--
the sleep that does not come to us though dark
the dark around us lies; it will not keep
this keep as safe as fortresses of art.
For art is mighty, stronger than the light
though lightly one may skip across the page--
the page that wields the weaponry of knights
who nightly ply tools of the modern age.
An age that yields more meaning in an hour--
Our danger lies in skipping over truth
for truth confesses strangely in its power.
A power that is wild does not run couth.
Uncouth it runs; the meaning is relayed
in layers that have need to be displayed.
Author notes
To learn more about writing a wreath, see this column.
In a list
A contest entry
- Black Swans by ea.
700 points, ended June 17, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This is so lovely. I love the imagery. That second stanza is particularly strong- I read it several times.
Again, lovely.
K
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Thank you for your attention, not only to this wreath, but to all of the wreaths I have written. It was truly an unexpected pleasure to get your reactions.
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They were a pleasure to read and study.
K
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beautiful work here love black swans too with gravy
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Thank you, you'll have to write something on that for this contest, in that case.
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