Breathe the Fragrance of Life

As a poet, I'm not bound by rules, only my imagination. There's ink in my veins, gathering visions for inspiration. I paint words on paper, instead of on canvas with a brush Poetry is my aphrodisiac. It provides me with such a rush. I write about dew drops on the velvet petals of a rose Smiles of a newborn touch me enough so I will compose a sonnet of fourteen lines, in rhyme...well, of course I've written about wildflowers and the gait of a horse I've written of rolling waves, tossing about on the sea Tears fell as I wrote, "Autumn leaves fell from a tree." and I couldn't wait to jot down the feelings in my heart when I finally found my one true love, or so I thought. I get a little help when I can't seem to concentrate My muse is a busy bee, hoping she can pollinate my mind by throwing out synonyms, word after word She makes me laugh because so many are absurd! I told her I wanted to write about the moon and sea She clucked her tongue and said, "You Listen to me. You have to set yourself free. Open your garden gate and breathe in the fragrance of life before it's too late." Often, I do it her way. Bereft of muse, my poetry wanes. I don't want to stop the ink flowing through my veins. I woke from a dream and quickly wrote it in a verse or by morning I would forget, and that's a poet's curse. Muse Poetry Contest Sponsor: Regina McIntosh Post Date: July 29, 2020