The Poets Chair
It's there where the tall winds howl at your door
Full of vision though it may be hidden and obscure
Thoughts wheeling and floundering in the air
Its heard in many voices some so clear
It’s where dreams are made
And where some have been broken
And so its solitude and social gratitude
It’s spoken
Poetry is aroused and made exclusive in the writers eyes
At times it’s private and intrusive
It’s a love of expression and words
It’s a puzzle in a picture and a maze
And there before your very eyes it’s declared
Somewhere, it forms from out of a poets chair
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