The Spoken Air

Thoughts inflame as feelings stir,
words simmering yet to boil
Unspoken sparks drift through the night,
a pyre still to fan

As heat restores the human soul,
all prodigals return
With hope to melt the frozen dawn,
and free the Poet's hand

Delphian in its natural form,
the smoke a treacherous friend
Ink rekindles—lies cremate,
the mind, its woods now bare

The verses stack and dry of doubt,
their ignition up to you
As dark they wait for your next breath
—to light the spoken air

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)