Thistle Poem by Crystal Korzinsky Chambers

There is a veil I can now see,
It blinds my way
To the place
My heart lies in.
Away, asunder, far yonder a breath…
...life to live that which is in me,
Defines me, desires.
To be unchained
From the Antigone of purgatory – quagmire
Of fate. So long low the rhymes
Of song blow. Borne over willows’
Lowly wind.
Say ‘nay’. I, yet some twist a tired
Worn thistle upon their wrist.
Savage sweet their melody
Briskly, keen away to
Favoured times of magical
Rhymes to chase vile demons
Away, to places ne’er said
For trouble or dread, I sing
Their names in jest.
Practical oh lively pilgrim, plight doth
Keep thee still. Merry oh weather
Who turned a black feather
To keep it ever still.
Free from the monument
That never speaks; who’s name
Is forgotten still.