Zenith’s sharpened mind .. .
..
..
alone with paper then of pen
again thoughts ink to spell
inside the dark well of night
conflict flows thru’ page’s river
ice torn frost turns purple word
crumpled, moist, soil absorbed
perch rimmed, salt-edged glasses
harrowed eyes, misted vistas
plunder deep life’s cutting iron
waiting crows feed at earth’s finger
burned crisp, day’s nettled sun
till rolls of light then thunder
..
edenbray ☢︎ - a BEAT POET 