My poetry walks barefoot along the winding unpaved road <br />where beautiful people peddle smiles <br />that tell a story older than language. <br />Where sundry patches of fabric <br />are stitched together <br />to clothe an entire tribe. <br />Where doorways lined <br />with woven tapestries <br />beckon my poetry. <br />It lingers on <br />a warp and weft, <br /> <br />then wanders through the market, <br />smelling the pungency of mongers' fish <br />and sweetness of clay-warmed bread. <br />Throughout this braid of wares <br />merchants hone <br />their beaded twine <br />and painted stone. <br />If it could, <br />my poetry would trade cadence for incense; <br />the scent intoxicates its rhyme, <br />rendering it artisan. <br />Currency jingles through this bazaar <br />of humanity, <br />this thread as versed as time. <br /> <br />© 2014 All rights reserved<br /><br />Michelle Claus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-poetry-is-pedestrian/
