Incense (Poem)

Strands dance
with the utmost coordinated imbalance.
They’re bound by rhythm and are, yet, free-spirited.
As I sip the green and sultry healer,
coupled with the grand, golden glaze accompanying as my e-steamed guest,
the heavenly haze they emit has me spelled to a cozy trance.
They transform the dreary drapes’, drywalls’, and linen’s collective, dull scent
into a passionately pungent one of a pirate paradise of collected relics, confiscated booty, and mounted documentation from territories conquered.
As simple and humble as this tiny comfort is in this world of gargantuan horrors,
“Green Forest Mist” never failed to make the end of the flattest and grayest workday
animated and effervescent.

Let every vapor remain untamed.
And, may every wisp
cause you to reminisce on every blessing.

From the Soul,
The Stormy Poet