Poetry

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I turn the page, resting my voice for a second

and catch your gaze on me, eyes bright

and full of delight.

You’ve said many times

that my reading voice is magical.

I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t looked at me that way every time.

If I didn’t know

you’d never

use words that were untrue just to flatter me.

Your words are always true,

as is your encouragement.

As is your love.

And so I shall read for you

until the years catch us up

and I can read no more.

Poetry

Colours of life

Long have tapestries been woven to tell tales.

Thread expertly chosen to depict every detail,

dyes richly combined

to bring forth the imagery.

Clear, neat, refined.

 

Silvertongues have learnt to weave tapestries with words.

Audiences spend hours listening

in suspense, enthralled by the daring twists at play.

 

Poets do the same, but set down their words

so the tapestries may be admired time and time again.

 

When Silvertongues and poets gather,

such is the intensity

that the air fills with the colour of life.

Each a muse to the other,

they walk hand in hand,

bonded at last to oversee the ripples

they couldn’t help but create.