True Poetry In Motion?
I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking
of a subject very dear to me.
When we finished .... in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw
no earth or sky.
These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.
Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who
allow these treasures to permeate them.
There is no clearer description within me to give. ...
And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain,
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.
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