An exercise in kyrielle.

The Spirit Wakes

A word misheard takes root anew
And 'neath the hazy brain-bog snakes
It shoots out tendrils, bursting through
The shackles fall, the spirit wakes

As dawn marauds o'er sleeping land
So thought's rebellion overtakes
The doldrum cannot long withstand
The shackles fall, the spirit wakes

See now the gloom at last dispelled
Its foul foundation cracks and shakes
And as its grasping claws are felled
The shackles fall, the spirit wakes

Poetry by Lady Courtaire
Read 143 times
Written on 2021-09-15 at 16:18

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I like the concept of what happens after a word misheard
So often it brings forth so much unexpected discourse (for better or worse)