Poetry is like the soul
The soul being a bird
A Bird singing in it’s field,
Carrying it’s wounded heart
Across a bare land of hope
In search of it’s dreams.
As a blind man can hear every note from the bird precisely and accurately,
A deaf man can see all her beautiful vivid colors in her feathers
Trying to build strength along they way
Not to lose faith
On each of their hardened journey.
Facing the reality of each their own dreams truth,
One on one.
Taking the time
Looking in their minds mirror
Giving thanks to their soul’s
For the life it has given to them.
Thanking their life for Building a complete fulfilling memory
Of accomplishing the greatest of ones deepest sincerities in goals
-Pure Inner Strength