.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

I want the jagged forest line
Against the setting sun;
The smear of black across the sky
Where night had just begun.

I miss the way the silhouettes
Of Trees did frame that sky,
The inky way it scrawled across
The blue in craggy lines.

I want the silver moonlight tipping
The horizon-line
To glaze the earth in black and white
And cloak the looming pines.

I miss the sprawling milky way
That luminescent stream
That cut across the onyx sky
Within the starry sea.

The storm is moving in on the horizon.
Its been a very long time since we had a storm out here..
The winds where picking up and all of my windchimes rang..
When I heard the wind chimes it flashed all before me.  
On where I was the night before and many nights before that..
Chimes and vibrations where the first to greet me..
Followed by lights directly shined into my eyes..
I could now remember sleeping with my eyes open..
Everything around me was made of a shiny lustrous metal.
Shadows would pass over my eyes from time to time.
To my horror I then realised what was going on..
They were studying what I was.
Looking inside me to see what makes me alive.
They spoke to eachother in strange clicks and hisses..
As they returned me home, my windchimes started to sing..
I awoke in my bed..
Was this just a bad dream?

What  a  strange  day.
This  morning  was  dark,
damp  and  foggy.
A  real  winter  morn.

This  afternoon  it's  cleared  up.
The  sun  has  come  out.
And  it's  quite  springlike.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Never been to good at leaving.  I like to stay put. Seeing others leave is kinda hard to deal with also.  If I do leave its not for a long time.  Crazy how we can see and experence the most beautiful of places.  But you soon find yourself going back home.  My home is not so glamorous and adventurous.  In fact it is a very small town in the middle of nowhere.   But it is home. It is a place that I will always find myself going back to.  

I have seen a great deal in the stars out here.  There are not many streetlights where I live.  This makes it easier for one to observe and feel the sky above.  When I put my music on a new world is seen within this small little town.  I later find out that this little town is the center of all the universe.  Its where it all begins and never ends..

It was dark.  A black curtain seem to cover the Earth.  Shadows played in the infinite night while demons screamed their songs.  It has been hard to walk among them for so long. I ware an old shroud around me and walked barefoot.   But today is the final day. The final day in the dark.  I am a collector. I collect light.  I have collected enough for one day to shine. 24 hours of shine.  Its all I need.  You see everyone here cannot remember what a sunny day looks like.  Even in their dreams the day is night.  That is until today.    I take a walk to one of the last churches standing.  It looks much like a normal house.  I suppose its why it was overlooked and never destroyed.  Before I unleash the light I walk down the aisle and kneel before I sit down on the pew.   I close my eyes and pray.  As I pray the light begins to pour out of me. I pray and I pray until the church is full of light! I never realised that the light would pour out of me during prayer.  I then open the shutters to all the windows and let the light outside.  The light cuts through the darkness as I begin to hear screams unbound.  The demons in their anger destroy the final church letting all the light out into the dark world.  A mistake on their part.  The light illuminates the world in an instant.  I remove the old shrouds around me and let my wings spread.  I then take flight upon the new day.   As I hear the demons screaming in agony below.

stir awake from your drunken slumber
embrace the joys of life that you may be free
pass on this beautiful gift that's freely given

Wild geraniums collected
in pocket, red painted petal stains
my feet squish, squash in this forest
the earthy mud a mossy sponge
with fern and lichen the trees are hung
upon the ground greening with maidenhair fern
my satchel filled with dainty floral sprigs
in spring the sparrows gathering vine and twig
June's an efflorescent carpeting, soft with lady slippers
in summer the wildflowers and grasses wed
when celebrates all the flying things
wooded bees and butterflies in the sun
sparkling with faceted, glistening wings.