by A. R. Stone

drawn, dropping down, he knows where time collects in wordless wells
gliding past him, moving, silent, current's curtains, torrents veils

liquid, warning, warming, wooing, wringing from him life's travails
rushing down him, ripping reason, tears asunder armored cells

flows his mind the deeper pools, wisdom writes his skin a scale
mystery's darkly, delving stream, willing waters truths unveil

ever running, rippled river, reigned within a tethered trail
rarely wrecked on shoals of shadow, winning free his mortal gaol
for rings eternal ocean's knell, cast in sand migration's grail

A. R. Stone says, "I started writing poetry when I was old enough to write, and by the age of nine was writing lyrics. I grew up in the wilds of the Rockies at around 9,000 feet up, where our nearest neighbors were elk and coyotes and mountain lions, so there was a lot of time in the summer to think and write and read. Writing was my solace and I took a notebook with me everywhere. I have a degree in creative writing and poetics and this piece was one from a senior project which was a reading with a chorus of High School kids. I'm convinced that I was a poet in a previous life and, as a consequence, hang out in the Bardic College on"

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