His Name Is Herald

Labored breathing
to hurried gasps,
extinguishing  like a flame
devoid of oxygen.
Is there hope?
Can we revive the dying embers?

Speak--stay the worried whispers
that like invasive weeds creep their way
into our consciousness.
Combat the warring niggling devils
within mortality's cruel intentions.
Let words be our arrows--
our flaming tongues that find their mark!
As they leave the remnants of beauty and pain
in their wake.

Cover the  soul as scallops of lace,
letters grouped in such delicate array.
Deceptively simple, yet meticulous
dreamlike, impossibly ornate.
Aged they hold their beauty
highlighting skill and depth.

Catch the magic in our woven basket,
steal our breaths on memories
dusted with glitter--a snow globe.
Our ears and eyes sing and dance
as we boldly capture the magic through our ink.

Anticipation creeps as dreams are barely touched,
almost realized, the power in a spell.
To get--to grasp--to make--to do
will fire fizzle before it radiates?
Or will it like a phoenix
who in its death is reborn
to burst forth--to shine?

Bellowing out for adoration,
what exhales, what lives, what moves!
The wonders, the senses,
that coo and preen as they cajole thought to page!

He falls into the arms of his lover,
relishing the warmth, the glory in his abandon.
The pages seek their carrier their messenger.
He succumbs to the beckoning that tempts his wandering soul
liberated within bonds of tender release.

Silence brings no respite,
to write--to write is to live!
To acclaim truths
nature seeks an author.
Be the words that fail to utter!

To walk the paths of danger,
the casualties mount.
Warriors don't live for glory
they die for honesty.
Purposeful footsteps lead to trial
knowingly they follow the fallen.
Let us drain our life blood
for love of this--these words--
to answer--to break through
the swollen callouses of bliss.

We poets through eyes--through fingers
through ink--seal fates to freshly see
innocence--in savagery, honor in artifice.