Lost is Found
Think! Colour reels night’s shrouds from morning sky.
Metamorphosis opens chrysalid
to imagOnation’s vibration hid
by darkness which itself at last must die.
Soul slumber tuning to the light may fly,
discards discords, hard heeled angst well rid -
unneeded now, unheeded not forbid.
Inklings fountain free and answer “why”,
discover, covers closed, pressed sheets laid by.
Lost is found, as reader’s mind may bid
goodbye to weary fears and tears amid
inspiration freed, - once held back by sigh.
An ‘I’ finds gift of second sight to spread
fair wings which stretch clear spirit, steer ahead...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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