The Poetess

She sits on

A throne

Of Metaphors

Her head

Held high.

A quiet smile.

She is plain

To look at

But her eyes

Blaze brightly

With inner

Energy.

She walks

Through her

Garden

Of Similes

Smiling at the

Personification

That grows

Among the

Brambles

(As they reach

Greedily

Toward her

Thorns like

Fingers

Catching at

Her dress)

She sits

At the

Fountain

Words

Poems

Flowing from

Her lips like

The water

As it spills

And gurgles

Around her.

Her words

Grow like

Patterns of

Light

Or branches

Until they

Surround her

In a beautiful

Cage.

 

Sometimes

I see her

Among the

Words of others

Standing serenely.

A faint smile.

As she stares

Out at me

Daring me

To write my

Own poem

Daring me

To invite her

Onto my page.

 

The poetess

Sits on a

Throne of

Metaphors

Her head

Held high

As she surveys

All things

Poetic.

 

 

Reviews

[Eira Anchor]

yeah, i lovelovelove this

[Beatrice Mars]

Brilliant....(I hate you)