A Poetic Time Line

A Poetic Time Line… (Apropos Poetic Faith) I At times the mind hangs in silence; all is stilled—save thoughts lingering lazily as if in cosmic animation. Nay, no words drip from the faucet that once streamed waters of creation. Now there’s only empty air passing over idle lexis. How deceiving is the thought: Idle mind. Like the dormant volcano quietly creating It inner explosive flow, so does the mind, its own. No creation is void of time; itself, the most elusive of all its creation. Katydids are tied in metamorphosis; babes in the womb; black holes—from dept of time’s time. Indeed in all creation, time is an instant of the eternity of self. The poem is a creature of time—Creation in the womb of mind—fertile words. All birth is a timed delivery. While time its self does not wait, we must wait on the timing of time; and in due time…the poem is born II As sharp rays of sunlight slowly sliced through the tinted blue skies, I wiped away the web of darkness— broke off a piece of time; used it to scrape away corrosive blockage; released dormant visions. Today I will open old dusty luggage of creativity and pull out wrinkled worn words; etch ebony emotions on fresh refine pulp of ancient trees. Today I shall weave soul stirring songs of peace, love and justice— the breath of God warming my serene soul— feathering the nest of my pregnant poetic mind.