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dendrolatry

she has not been moved
recently by the curve of her pen
it rests stagnant in the bowl  
of mystic dewy ink
 
hiding in a drawer that
refuses to open its gallery  
of words
 
her paper rests
unwillingly vacant and alone
perhaps words weren't necessary  
small piercings emerged
punctuated by color
 
her ink became threads
translating her thoughts  
into image  
needle working it's way through
the tangle of words
becoming  branches  
 
slowly intertwining  
into another art form  
birthed from her love  
of trees and flowers
 
where words are not necessary  
or needed  
just the mystery and beauty
resting in her fingertips  
 
slim blade with eye  
pulls the threads into form
where Nature dances  
spilling from her soul  
where movement is imperative

 
 
Note ... image won't upload, bummer!
Written by jemac
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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