The Poets’ Corner

The Poets' Corner

The Poets’ Corner

How I arrived there, I was unsure
But there I was
Alone in my humanness,
In the room of the souls…
Standing in the quintessence
Of apparitions
In what must have been
The most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…
All of them loquaciously
Offering their lore
As if I were the ghostwriter
For all who dwell in other worlds…
The intense energy
Filling the crowded room
Causing the tiniest of hairs
Upon my skin to stand so inflexibly,
One might surmise that I had grown thorns…
Quivers rippling up the back of my neck
Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies
Fluttering along my spine…

The voices spoke
Of transcendent rhymes
With only the whisper of breath
Stirring echoes of angels
Resounding in my head…
I gazed into the mirrored glass
Upon the hallowed walls
With visions of only
The morning mist
In hues of a blushing dawn…
I penned their words
Upon the parchment
As they smiled at my
Scribbled scrawls…
Each one citing runes of reason
Filling verses with what was
Once misunderstood…

Suddenly there was silence…
The pressure inside my head
Dropped so rapidly
I feared my mind would
Vaporize into mere thoughts
Of fractured ink…
The tiny hairs
Fell tranquil against my skin…
The butterflies followed
The scent of lavender
Weaving through the open window…
There was no whispered breath
But that of my own
Conversing with the echoes of angels
Now retiring to worlds
Beyond my human comprehension…
As I gazed into the mirrored glass
Finding but my own reflection
In hues of black and white –
I held in my hand
The parchment
Scrawled from the quintessence
Of apparitions
While I stood alone
In my humanness –
In the most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…


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