the sea writes its own poetry
the breeze doesn’t care, it sings
essays drift by on falling leaves
petals wither and tell stories
…………..
i have marked my world
with limits and laws
i have shut out my poetry
silenced my song
…………..
i undulate and meters get set
i whistle through and melody begins
i fall and a world gets composed
i die and the story is told
…………..
where have you hidden your poetry
where have you buried your song
why do you shun your mystery
to whom do you belong
…………..
come, says the sea
follow me, calls the breeze
let go, laugh the leaves
go on, wither! cry the petals
…………..
i have tied my being
with infinite measures
and lost my own infinity
………………………………………………………
april 5, 2016. sitting on a plastic chair outside the doctor’s chamber this afternoon, the force of unbound absolute unlimitable nature, its fearless creations, its inherent art suddenly hit me. thanks to my iphone, i could quickly write down the words without losing them… often a poem will come, but where is the pencil? i read the other day that “writing” comes from ancient words that meant to cut, to score, to carve… it is born of the process of writing. i wonder if words tapped out on a keyboard without actually drawing out the letters lose flesh and blood.
