Making Poetry Out of Anything

After I have continuously fed the moon with my spoon of inspirational feelings Soon I noticed; it never grew fat, but stayed toon, like an animated raccoon so I had to enhance the moon, to a glowing moonlight, and adopt its moonlight, into my pool of wholly gratification My little backpack held a slim lunch of ideology, a monochrome vision, colored inspiration, a digital faith, ink book, jotting desire, cloudy hopes, and a wholesome feel of willingness of everything I needed for the day Eagerly following the irresistible sea feels of Saint. Writer the poet I began, trekking in hopes, working in ropes, and writing in copes, along the sky-high trail of motivational spine of fortunate path. The tussle and bustle of my bushy and busy unsuitable ideology, fell away, and I felt a sliver solitude as the only person on this long awaiting vision, winding around my moonlight All of a sudden, my light and vision, reviles, that in the mist of nothing, no air nor fairness, wonderful poetry can still be made golden.