Who authors our poems

Pen and paper in hand, our mind is blank, our heart without fear because God is near, with muse playing hide and seek as a prank, soon adorning presence with words of cheer! We author not poems we seem to write, being vibrations we sense in our heart, interpreted by mind through inner sight, conjuring thus, a timeless work of art. Body-mind an urn we ensoul to learn, so it is an instrument for our use, merely translating how soul’s fire does burn and how soma nectar begins to ooze. If there be a chink in head and heat link, contorted then will be the words we ink.