Pipe Dreams Woven

Golden letters swirl along, their magickal energies mingling
Dancing, twirling, pirouetting to the piper's melodies
On the breath of air that captivating one poised quill
Of the wordsmith as it stands poignantly to attention
Language clear and consicely woven to their new ability
Words weighted and whispers yearning to be heard
A sound that is half-spoken, softly sung, knowing that
What's been written has been done to the extremes of
The quill that screams as it stresses the powerful strain
Of Magic within its power, and all it needs is a finishing touch
Where the rhymes can speak for themselves, emphasizing, Hot
Too much?

As the piper concludes his Scottish tracks,
The words form a message saying 'God has got your back'
Diplomacy in the art of tact, security in knowing that
Mingling energies coinsided, work together, not trying to hide it
The words themselves know what to do, its about piecing together
Chips and part of the puzzles that fall on through
But as the feathered quill darts and trusts in the innate gift
That doesn't collect more dust, the enigmatic inspiration of
Introspection that pours through this stanza thus, has
Powered many that drink the potions of collected lust
And by the darkness of the sky itself, the piper has laid down
His pipes to respect the health of the listeners that do connect

To retain a sense of peace within the air from which,
The dead, they call, simply to encourage, uplift and help us all
The last position recalled on the listening ear,

But not everyone will hear the sound of the pipes far and wide, transported back to the days of depression, poverty and when times were hard
From the days when one could hear the music from their own
From when one could rest easy and leave the window open for the music to drift in, and answers could be found in the silence from when spirit whispered memories bathed in love
Silent messages that came in on the wings of a white dove

That brought in the symbolism of peace and a trusted source
Of a lesson in life, not knowing the consequences of what was wrought, the pain and the hurt from that lesson was taught
And in the silence, the answers were sought, in that one memory, life was indeed, caught, but if it weren't for us listeners
Then it would've been all for naught
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 11
About this poem:
just a story in itself, introspection

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Comments (2)

I love your vocabularies.handshake
Thank you!
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