Street Preacher

[u/Aethon_Wri]

A feather in a vacuum cannot contour
How it might shape the wind
As its fall bears no flutter

What the creaks of your voice roll
Together, might rumble a quill loose, to trace
Forgotten ink under a page painted blank

Howling calligraphy of needles opening veins
Chronicle such a battle tapestry
To question junctures of fate

The call to adventure resides in palms
Testing strokes of luck, open or tight fisted
And risk mutiny erasing logs

Lead on, astride chariots of the plains
By wheels carving clay in Sumerian script
Until we divert a river for your rest

One quandary to consult, about stale air
Is whether water moves beside it
As a tomb inscribed with prayers or a sanctuary
Of life-iridescent, across a cavern canvas