By brian francis
They say
it is a freedom
that allows unfettered control.
Words cast upon the page
in their rawest state;
the flow born of the poet’s seasoned spirit,
etched upon his soul
by the Muse as he sleeps.
Craft is not lost in the clutter of words
spoken upon the page,
they cluster in reasoned strophes
Resisting rhyme
and the metered standard.
Instead:
they dance like a leaf in the wind;
tumbling and bounding,
In the flow of life embraced.
An unrestricted celebration!
Copyright ©2020 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 