A Poem: Sap

Green the pyramid waves in the wind.
Its hours count down.
The leaves left, looking up,
at the naked pole.

Felling, as the dragon dons its third crown.
Euphoric felling as the task dawns
This mast is heavy.

The Beacon Move,

stones trap mapping lines,

as the brow tight cries,

the pivot raw,

momentum challenged,

yet un-hindered.

the shock of the mass eye that misses.

Deflects the misguided heckle,

In front the old bar gone,

complete the new wood.

in place…

By Alan Whitfield 2012

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