An abecedarian

 

Here I, an abecedarian, on a flight towards
The freezing depth of poetry’s time ridden cavern
Opening the rust mottled memory’s floodgate
Reading the dust throttled history’s pages
Pulses of my thirst paint visages and images alive
On the scar-marred walls of dreams and visions
Recycling the rustling fear’s dead leaves to blood-tonic
Burning the mocking death’s smile on the horizon
With my passion’s uninhibited freedom
I fill me with words myriad scented
Living and re-living the words under imagination’s vast sky
Here I, an empty page, where the wild wants to grow

Sarala

(a prompt poem with words flight, pulse, paint, alive, death, recycle, burn, freeze, dust and rust 🙂 )

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