MAGIC ROOM

To the magic room I go,
to its transparent walls,
flicking images that I recall,
the solidarity of it all.

Stars high above and
the oceans well below,
in-between a soul is
learning how to grow,

before the lights swoon
or the broken cocoon,
though it may be soon,
it is not now
I am within my tao,

Every letter will sink
drip of black ink, sliding
into oblivion, for upon
these four walls
my words do not stick.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The magic room. Please where mind can dream and reach.
"Every letter will sink
drip of black ink, sliding
into oblivion, for upon
these four walls
my words do not stick."
The above lines left me with question. Sinking words. Where do they go. Always a pleasure to read your work. Thank you Rene for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote