Prose {a poem}

6c5f9730973cdd95915770fcc0f0f4edIn the private stillness of nocturne, secrets

Of the mind’s minstrel unravel lines of thought

Intimacies of a writer, no regrets

Manifested in the moving pen, the soul’s

Bared to the page, unspoken wishes and wants

Shocking on a stranger’s page, imagined whole.

This pride of spirit unredeemed by scorning

For the fellow’s words, speaks fathoms to world’s end.

Come fantasy of mind, come the sun’s morning,

The self-scripted words tell mores’ of the heart

Than of the gift. So let this caution ring clear

As dawn’s luster, the pen will always sin impart.

by Rebecca Williams