Lifting Pages Poem by Manonton Dalan

weaver in darkened room
blinks of blue tube thereon
gentle touch of fingertip laps
tracing fine silk lining straps
curtain forming buffer plane
painted innocent face remain

wondering, am i should be
whispers coming to say
dreams has grown wings
flies happily; voice sings
with calmness of waves
breath to newly born leaves

buds springing to greet the sun
with kissing dew; wetness bond
young tips of green on mossy twig
cradles a jewel; a beautiful rig
with sharp pen; wonderful mind
always looking, listening to sign

in the quietness of lofted souls
searching old hidden scrolls
with a sigh; bubbling chest
borne desire, ultimate quest
growing from mighty fingertips
ease, extinguish by sweet lips