The muse comes drifting by,
Then from glistening, thread-like
Strands of soul's eternal mist,
Unrolls a virgin-new creation
Of well-sewn, ironed verse.
Shaped and moulded words.
Pleasing both the ear and eye.
Unrehearsed, the urge to pen
Sees skeining deep inside
For spinning, as poetic thought
Unwinds, thus begins again
The weaving of emotive cloth.
A fine array, laid down in
Such a way of well-spun word
That ultimately, the process
Of perception's being stirred.
And desire to scroll begins.
Poet's verse, discreetly cloathed in
Rhythmic style of structured metre.
Changing after little while
With liquid flow, and right repeats,
Stresses neatly dressed, and
Sequenced, lined correctly, will
Grammatically complete the piece.
But working webs of words
Is Drama - cloth for wearing
Next to beating human hearts.
Meant for being heard - performance
For effect within the living soul.
When read aloud, the written word
Sits well.- Artistic weaving has occured.
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weaving-words/
