pandora’s parchment

pregnant on my lips
words welling up
from deep within
the well of souls

what hath pandora wrought
alone i stand
now to face her
amalgamated menagerie

sixth in the pipeline
sixty-two eighteen
pumped from all aquifers
across the arid land

now in my hand
baton de plume
in awe i stand
bouquet in bloom

my feet must flow
from that i’m given
whose precious petals
i shan’t leave riven

must match the pace
respect round robin
how can i sew
without a bobbin

precious parchment
baton or scroll
the flowers raiment
varied majesty extol

eager to set off
i nearly stumble
now passed to me
my feet must flee

in this direction
unknown to me
into strange lands
beset with bees

this slender baton
entrusted parchment
now duly imbued
with my own sweat

its path is cast
by those before me
and the dust kicked up
by my own feet

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About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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