Posted by: tsopr | August 31, 2010

Sweet Like Bread

Sweet Like Bread

His words, not salty–
for his tongue’s not a pillar
of salt, plucked from the bottom
of the deep blue sea.
He gladly spills them on my
tiny palms that roll out like
ancient scrolls, full of
such undulating marvels,
swaying to the chilling chant
of a silver stream,
coupled with the soft whispers
of a sighing summer wind.
And I let his words
freely grow like sweet-smelling
sugar pines, touching the sky,
wagging the still clouds,
not to disturb the sleeping
rain, but to woo dreams. Those dreams,
sung in joyful songs
by choir of glossy dark blue
songbirds in the flowering
of purple lilacs
that a woman like roseate
dawn loved to wear, while waiting
for her hubby whose
shadow’s ridged by the sun’s heat–
for me to live life, which is
poetry, sweet like
bread, and to share it with you
regardless of your color.

Copyright © 2010 Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago

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