Tell me a story
That casts a spell : a blue light
that turns the bleeding red to purple,
With words that squeeze the darkness out, the droplets of sweaty grime.
Tell me a story
In dialects that I know,
With metaphors soaked in newness,
And words that sound
Like stardust falling – soft whispers
With a feather touch.
Let it be a story
That speaks the truth,
Etched in earthy ochre red,
On a granite wall,
Well within view,
Unlike those edifices we travel to see.
Let it be a story
That echoes through the corridors,
Softly,
Gently,
Swallowing shadows,
Throwing open the skies.
Much unlike the ones I write.
( Image : Unsplash – Jennifer Griffin )
