In cleft of the rock he found his scars were hidden, as a beetle scurried
believing his safety was in the earth. Only the ants heard the words of the poet
as he scribbled a few notes down on paper, and spoke them to the birds.
His heart was captured in a few lines, so he tucked the poem
in the cleft, and looked out over the mountains
believing his safety was in the earth.
And so he writes to this day,
sometimes still holding
his poems in the cleft,
of the rock.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies