Still to the tension of less chatter,
The olden timbers sank down the flow,
Of their expressioned tide,
Mangled crustaceans oer a jokers shape.
Chasmed as they sped a descent down,
The curving lanes and constricting veins,
Infallible scarlet cooled and could have,
Wounded the womb of its endearing children.
Wine left its haunt.
And the play of a smaller kindred,
Gave a kiss and marked its friend with a sigh,
Ripple said waters edge, droop with more silence,
You never seem to wage a war.
Your growth leadeth through the cover of a butterfly,
A shadow through a demon,
The glistening foretold a shining, falling, light,
We had yeared through silence all along,
With a primal soft sigh.
POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011