Poetry in its truest form. Just lovely. This poet is in awe of this masterfully ‘madman’s’ pen and mind.
Along this fading line of time, along this simple thread of life
that speaks so strong to what I write,
that calls to me, that calls to me…
Here my purpose pulled in rhyme, here my pen becomes my wife
that beckons lays to what is right,
that sings of me, that sings of me…
For I know no other reason in answer to the “wheres” and “whys”…
I know no time of season that stills or strokes the errant tries!
I know that only tempests call within my soul to write it all!
As every dew drop glistens in every moment’s pause, I listen,
‘til sweet the strong confusion reigns, until my thoughts, and pen, sustain
some moment captured, acquiesced beyond the simple thoughts confessed.
Here, in time’s sweet undulation, here in moments caught from you,
I do that which was meant to be,
to sing of thee, to…
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