Acrostic: Sylvia Plath
@10-15-2019, Olan L. Smith
Sorrowful bliss in hidden niches packed with poets―
Yahweh's souls gloriously gathered in a room chockfull of egos,
Laughter, smoke; where verses drip off tongues in liquefied hope
Verified upon gold leaf by narcissistic authors; where courage is
Inscribed in sand and engraved on water, an everlasting
Assurance for members of poets' coven, coveting life.
Past the cup, drink the bitter brew of past poets' anguish―
Langer in time, in ethereal planes of communal ideas,
And answer the call! I am a poet, in the heavens;
The time is always now. Turn your face to the kiln,
Heaven's fire doesn't stifle; it enlivens the collective.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
