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Runes • Art • The Rune

The Rune


Each word falls like a tiny drop of rain,
Meeting the page and joining in the art.
It flows across the papery terrain,
And into the boundless sea to impart.
Just when I fear the drops will be for naught,
I conceive readers traveling upstream,
Eyeing the canyon that the years have brought,
Breathing the rune that sustained the regime.
A vision of faith to free each caress,
Yielding formations beautiful and mere,
Eroding rough edge to smoothened recess,
And shaping silence forever to hear.
     And so this day I rain tear by tear,
     Knowing the rune doth transcend the year.


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