~~~~~~~~~~~
When no words come
To paint or form
Beautiful sceneries
On a single white sheet
The Poet ponders
He sure wonders
If with the muse
Again, he will ever meet.
But life, like a river
Flows and follows its course
Bringing the Poet closer
To his nature and his source.
Beyond words
Beyond Images
Lies his essence
For he is always
All ways,
Rooted in existence.
Then the poet knows
That the greatest poem
he'll ever write
Is his own
Fully lived life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Loving and living.
Peace,
Sylvie
