Blogging Poetry

Warming, Warning, Calling

Bloom.

Born of brackish murk.

Silent, but surrounding

Me? Beasts, slither. Lurk.

Old Sun, On High, beamed.

Warming, warning, calling

Me? Old Friend, it seemed.

Before Long, I rose,

Did The Light win The Day’s

Freedom? As I chose.

Three Days… rising, thus.

Bloom these Hours. This! Our

Freedom? I, Lotus.


© All rights reserved, 2017.

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