I am not content
to fade into yesterday’s
almanac, landing on a
shelf of dusty dreams,
fading to sepia tones.

I am not content
with a ribbon of gray
threading through the
needle of my existence,
stitching my life
into a burial shroud.

I am not content
to leave words unturned,
eroding into fragments
of ash gray limestone.
White chalk smeared,
scattered on a blackboard.

I am not content
with splinters of dripping
flaxen honey, wrestled from
the comb, stuck in webs
to my right hand.

I am not content
to leave syllables unheeded,
whispers from sage in twilight sleep:

“I carve on cavern walls
hieroglyphs of moonblood, birth.
I paint meringue clouds
rocket fire, blue mayhem, fossil butte,

speak my signature,
voice aquiver.”

– Sharon Frye

© 2015, poem, Sharon Frye, All rights reserved

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