And words come in a rush.

My old blue fountain pen allows
The ink across this page to flow
Like wet paint from an artist’s brush,
And words come in a rush.

             Enchanting   through the hand that writes .
Bewitched by art,beauty alights.
The script is like a music score
     Through which we step as through a door,
Imagination’s home.
As,mysteriously, to you, to me,
The spirits of our hearts are tamed ,
By rhythms of pen,of brush, of mind,
They enter vision quite unplanned,
Like moths to flutter softly round

Fire joined hand and heart.

The pen slows down,the hand grows still,
And just as dreams at daybreak will
They shrink,they disappear,they’re gone,
I nearly caught that one!

About Katherine

I like art, poetry,history, literature,cooking,doing nothing to music.And conversation
This entry was posted in poetry, Thinkings and poems. Bookmark the permalink.

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