Crumpled Paper
Crumpled paperlike the convolutions
of a somber mind, hide within its folds
a secret yet untold, words meant to speak
when the lips might slack, the tongue should stutter
no more than a ventriloquist lost
within the jungles of endless scribbles,
weaving his way, past deep thickets and shrubs,
where the roots grasp strong, the branches entwine,
to where the moonlight marks a decent niche,
convene a tryst with the goddess of youth.
I woke up, a crumpled paper in my hand,
and ardently peeled the fruit of my verse,
smoothing out the crease of this writer's curse--
my muse, my muse! hear out my passion's truth!
© 2002 Miguel Rogali
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