Writers are often called 'mental travelers',
finding inspiration in imaginative thought;
They follow dreams to many magical places,
and learn about a life that can't be bought.

A story can develop from different angles,
releasing all the joy and sorrow it holds;
Describing wondrous visions from the heart,
with mindfulness of the pleasures that unfold.

The colors of the soul are on display,
they float along with mystery and intrigue;
We find ourselves wrapped up inside the words,
while they promote our aspirations to achieve.

The true poet creates images which survive,
and carry us into worlds of saving grace;
Each verse begins a journey to the stars,
where eager minds discover their 'special space'.

Leading minions through their lives,
with tales akin to nursery rhymes;
Borrowing words' suspicious meanings,
with truth upheld in literary leanings.

Escape will often set their minds,
toward phrases of a different kind;
Whatever's lost in fields of dawn,
is soon exposed to missives' frown.

Behind the gates of poets' loss,
the mystic haze of demented toss;
Survives each peek derived in haste,
and burns the emblems' sour taste.

Correct me if perception lacks,
and covers well its tainted tracks;
For beauty reigns within the heart,
against the cursed lines' depart.

They reach beyond in spiritual glance,
contented souls who take a chance;
To chase their dreams with strong intent,
never conceding to sorrowful lament.

Where do they find the peace within,
to follow courses that often begin;
In shadows covering every word,
when hopeful voices can't be heard ?

Hiding fears from others around,
they pray but barely make a sound;
Yet heaven is not far from here,
to calm the aching, worrisome fears.

So on they march into the night,
in search for what will make things right;
A goal to reach when strength abides,
and softly ripples among the tides.

In the deepest canyons of the soul,
there's a burning torch of revelation;
That life can give us what we need,
if we look toward sweet salvation.

Seeking to traverse the obstacles,
those sins we've all committed;
We climb over rocks of redemption,
when angels deem to permit it.

Soon God releases us from pain,
with the promise of forgiveness;
As destiny grabs our aching hands,
to show us through the darkness.

This pursuit of love quietly continues,
along the many winding paths of life;
Relentless forces fuel eternal hope,
inspiring us to look toward heaven's light.

This room became synonymous with death,
while waiting for relief from outside threats;
Hot and bare in wooded forest's scene,
stifling--hardly breathing---from the steam.

Recalling how I came upon this place,
running from the worst of the human race;
Folks who spend their lives in troubled spheres,
intending to cause harm and foster fear.

It wasn't long ago I had some friends,
who seemed willing to reach out and make amends;
But then mistrust and hateful thoughts arose,
which prompted me to gather all my clothes.

In summer's blazing heat I crossed a bridge,
and found this cottage on a mountainous ridge;
With few possessions curled up in a ball,
I lay in wait with hope no one would call.

And finally I heard the people's rants,
with fiery forces calling out in chants;
To surrender in humiliation and dismay,
or they'd drag me out and put me on display.

I must confess while praying to the Lord,
my crime was nothing horrid or abhorrent;
If God would let me live just one more hour,
these cramped quarters would be all I could desire.

And here I'll live in peace and honor still,
and cast no other stranger to the hill;
For every child should know he has a place,
within the bounds of God's amazing grace.

The streaming light of evening filters,
through the gauzy curtains hung above;
My day was restless and filled with pain,
the emptiness inside replaced past love.

I watch the curtains flutter like eyelashes,
as rainbow colors streak against the walls;
An old armchair embraces my wounded body,
the doorbell rings as someone comes to call.

No movement from my solitude to answer,
the wretched sense of loss has overwhelmed;
My mind and heart with tortured loneliness,
no other man would enter this vacant realm.

This grieving happens when lost love erases,
the humanity and wholeness of our being;
I pour a drink with hopelessness and sadness,
without him there's just no one else worth seeing.

Gone astray again but given a second chance,
to show remorse and pledge his love once more;
But this time there'll be no waiting at the altar,
he'll never walk again through my front door.

There comes a time in every life,
when shadows form from dust;
And ideals seek to be renewed,
before they fade and rust.

So many feelings left submerged,
like oysters crowded in the bay;
Can profit well from sweet release,
into the mist of ocean's spray.

As voices' resurrected rhymes,
in hymns of Nature's essence;
Their inspiration carries forth,
to hearts seeking spirits' presence.

A coastal chill awakens all,
who gather for the missive;
While dappling stars in amber light,
spell out each truthful vision.

And mindful of the world sublime,
all shadows leave in vain;
As faithful souls' reflections,
revive rhapsodies of falling rain.