Touchstone. Take it. Truth, they’d tarnish it

Sooth, say it, there’s wisdom within it,

awakening, it starts to glow.

All told, lo! it’s wordy

Prone to prattle,

A precis,

Calls it-

Poem

Plucked, picked, from pearlescent aether, saw it shining, sounding singing,

cooed it down to earth. Such voices! Hear, it’s heavenly, happens

it is hardly human, hearken, how unearthly, unbirthed and

unbegun. Barely herely, scarcely nowly, nearly unbecome

wholly free from fealty, owing no allegiance, under

no illusion acting on an idle whim.

Wind guessed it, gusted it

billowed it, bustled it

thrusting it

Within.

Heart bird in rib cage, captured, O it sings

sadly sobs laments and wailing woes

Soul, set, with ropes and pins

pines and moons, wanes

 and nearly wastes

away.

Why?

Woe wails

Vast vale of

Sighs and crys and tears.

Touchstone. Take it, touch it, Time.

Dust. It’s this tale of days turning, into years.