the wordlinks poetry project

invitatory

From out the pen flow streams of molten thought: Twisting, turning, moving them aright. The chalice of the page doth ask the Holy Wine’s delight. ‘Tis quick and bright, the liquor written there. Where of that cup you take your sup, freedom groweth there. This life is all too short and sweet to waste on petty stuff. Take this cup, be drunk thereof: it shall be enough. *