in its labyrinths and dusty corners
lurking there behind shadows waiting
to become what they are meant to be
which lift, sift, flutter, fly
Sometimes waves which rise up
rage, ripple, roll.
My words sometimes dance
close, rhythmic, heated and sensual
across a waiting page.
Taking shape and form
as soon as they are born
petals in the sun
or, under snow
tremble at the touch
so do my words reflect their joy
when I think of home
knowing there is love.
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
*This came about because I saw a question asking people to write where their words for their poetry come from