Black ink and sunbeams poetry

The sirens melody

begins at sunset,

rhythmic, maddening,

soft as children’s laughter

and dreadful as words

spoken in anger, undeserved

like an empty bottle,

or the poet’s page

colored with love and loss,

 infected by doubt and

laden down with longing,

we too, earned the right to ride the ink-tide

set free in parallel lines,

swirling down the drainpipe