Mark Riedel | + Follow Poet |
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I, Bearer of Fruit...

Kinshala = 
                 It is not merely a question
                                          of Time,
                 not just a fragment of tangent
                                          rhyme
 
                 but a sincere sensation - 
                               an internal oration,
 
                 of angels old and knew
                               who upon meeting you
 
                 blew the truth of trumpets
                               in my tingling ears,
 
                  to announce their overjoy
                            that I have searched for years....
 
   So Kinshala, Kinshala
                  (I must twice repeat)
 
   for when my heartfly flutters nearby
                  It doth often skip a beat,
 
   Claiming nervous erratic clamor,
for
   You've broken my heart free
                  with a soul hammer,
 
      allowing Kinshala inside
 
      where You now, and forever 
                                          reside...
 
--------------------------------------------------
                                
and on thoughts that co exist:
 
let me now start a list,
 
    of daydreams and brilliant reveries
 
I have wondered in the trees
 
    of knowledge in yr eyes,
 
(impossible to surmise)
 
    for you haven't left my head
 
though when asleep
                    
   (or if stone dead)
 
Kinshala yr soul  I keep
 
   in worlds, in words ingrained
               (unreality to explain),
for
   when hearing the voice of wisdom...
 
She is echoing yr name....

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