I'll Set Out a Verse, and Lay the Foundation
Then You'll Add Another, for the House's Completion
The writer's pen across the scroll
lays down darkness in its wrath—
like a snake that slithers across the dust
and leaves behind it a leveled path.
The hawk downs eagles in the heights of the skies,
spreading its pinions against the heavens—
its eyes are cut from precious gems,
its flashing wings from bolts of lighting.
The waters slowly flow in the stream,
just like delicate chains of silver—
and the hand of the wind like a craftsman comes
and turns that elegance into armor.
Hidden from men and always veiled,
the pomegranate's cheeks are just like girls—
once they're opened, it seems they contain
coffers loaded with gold and pearls.
The fruit of the nut is sweet in its shell,
but until it's broken, it can't be eaten;
much like those who seek like fools
and learn not a thing until they're beaten.
n e x t
back to POEMS ON POETRY contents page
[ page 5 of 19 ]