Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

Blurry dreams
of waking things
touch like feathers
on the sleeping me.

Downy drifts, soft
and warm, sifted
through my catcher,
staving arrows, bolts,
from a wicked fletcher.

He lets fly in measures.

Salvos, two-at-once,
to pierce the map
that leads dreamily
to the treasures
of the mind, hiding
in plain sight,
those loving dreams
that calm the night.

Life.

I am the quiver,
where the nightmare
fletcher stows his bolts
for nightly
piercing-pleasure.

The bloodletter
measures success
in cups, liters,
and sweat-soaked
pillow-feathers.

My dream-catcher
is tattered from
the nightly fusillade
of nightmares made
by the haunting fletcher.


©️ Tenpenny, 2019.

7 thoughts on “Let Fly in Measures

  1. Obol says:

    Nightmares are no fun… I may go back a retool the imagery to be a little tighter. Thank you

    Liked by 1 person

  2. tara caribou says:

    Way cool! I like this. By the way… you took it down as I was trying to comment on your song… I loved it! It was really cool to hear the poetry done like that and made me wish some of mine was like that.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Tenpenny says:

      Thanks! I wasn’t happy with the the song, so I took it down to retool it. Happy you liked the draft

      Liked by 1 person

      1. tara caribou says:

        I did. (And yeah, I figured…. but it was really good. I really really enjoyed hearing the poetry like that.

        Liked by 1 person

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