Well-written poetry seems an art of the heart,
Requiring exploration of catacombs and tombs; dark, hidden rooms,
Only possible by the grace and prod of God. And trust.
Now I understand the uniform,
Gear, worn to give courage to fear.
Enveloping mined gold in curtains and folds,
Disguise of the wary wise.
Today’s assignment: trust, internal rhyme, acrostic.
Busy day today, little time for revisions unless I ponder as I go. Would really love your suggestions, though.
P.S. This is why I don’t write poetry… it’s scary down there. Plus, I kinda’ stink at it. But I do like to read yours.