Maestro

we sit on a suspended rotten tree trunk hammock he tells me his worldly visions and I silently watch as he the maestro of his marvelous ideas that twist and contort like verbal ballerinas keeping in time to the rythym of his rapid delight of his words spilling around like a greek fountain, and it is beautiful The world will become drunk from the passion of his lips and his mind works like a metradome patiently moving forward he speaks of prophets but what is a prophet other than an inspired man to bring forth inspiration and a positive new direction to the waywardly blindfolded populations Brainwashed from misinformation I am awestruck in this moment, because here, where the river flows it's life saliva and the fallen leaves float effortlessly to the ground I realize that this is a moment, where a person has found peace within themselves.