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.
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