CHARCOAL FOOTPRINTS

I am a poet
a pauper without a home
I am a rain puddle in a world of stone
Experience brings no reward
poetry aches in my bones
My soul can afford what time will record of me...

Charcoal footprints, prints in ash

surpass my middle, my metaphysical
Draped in liquid lines,
lines Casting ripples to be heard
A life deferred in written word
in my hand I hold
The gift of fools gold
No cost, no coin for thee
Senses provoked,

I am set free from fire
and brim-smoke

The holy ghost pens the final stroke

within me...

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

A towering achievement.

[Cassie Fraga]

your intro is so strong... and the end... WOW!! and yes I did what roarke said... read it slow and its like velvet on the tongue... GREAT WRITE MY FRIEND!!!

[Aidz]

Wow Rene this is FUKEN awesome the title alone wow way kewl

[emmajoy]

' I am a poet ~ a pauper without a home ~ I am a rain puddle in a world of stone '

what incredible opening words .. they lure the reader into the larger scene, like an invisible teacher explaining how it is, how it will be. Words light the fire, don't they, but I'm inclined to believe that they never die .. that that holy ghost creates miracles in stone, in memory.

[roarke]

improvising over the changes, just don't lay in any rap beats under it, it's stand alone in word and voice as is. It runs fast, but speak it slow, that's the magic.