Burning Gray Roses
Words I cannot use
lines I cannot do
prose not quite painting the picture I feel
crumpled up on thin trees
lines I cannot do
prose not quite painting the picture I feel
crumpled up on thin trees
tossed into the cauldron
to be sent back to the Womb of Creativity
upon rising smoke
to be sent back to the Womb of Creativity
upon rising smoke
And as the balls of not quite right burn
they begin to bud
opening their ember edged petals
dark silver rose offerings
to the Muse of Inspiration
September 23, 2003
Tressa Lee Breen
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