The empty page before me
holds magic within its bounds
I sit and hold its edges
'til my inspiration's found  

Shh... Quiet now and you’ll hear
it so softy speak to me
Guide's my mind to fill its lines
but knows not what it’s to be  

The poet's task is simple -
to repeat the paper's tale
and give its thoughts some action
on this course we dare to sail  

The subject can be the same
of the many poems you'll read
but each one holds some magic
as it plants its thoughtful seed  

For two poets can hear its voice
though miles apart they be
and both will craft a telling
each one grayed by what they see  

For therein lies the magic
which each poet is entwined
new ways to express the thoughts
of blank pages that we find  

The poet is a partner
to the paper, thought and word
A poem is but their melding
giving sight to things once blurred

With the fairest of breezes,
off I go! I take to flight.  
A silken twine holds me fast
looking back, it leads to you.  

You, only you hold the twine,
I rise further to the sky
until no sight of you's left,  
still, the twine holds me to you.  

Drunkenly I ride the breeze
knowing that you set my course.
I reach for the high-up clouds  
and then strain against your grasp.  

Soon whipping winds have me caught,
and they sing upon the twine.  
A song we both hear and know,
a sorrowful, wailing song.  

Damage done - the string does part
and I flail within a cloud,
leaving you there, holding twine.  
Stringy, stretched, useless twine.  

You stand there, left wondering
and I'm lost within the sky.  
The twine floats back, back to you
and I'm numb without it there.  

Away I fall lost to you
as I crash upon some tree,
leaving you with tangled twine -
the folly of flying kites.

My eyes see a tarnished world  
A world with stain
Stain my soul  
Soul

My soul feels an angry world
A world with hurt
Hurt my mind
Mind

My mind needs a better world
A world with delight
Delight my heart
Heart

My heart is a willing world
A world with trust
Trust my eyes
Eyes

Life’s about the adjectives,
it’s how we know the world.
Nouns, you see, are only names,
with adjectives - life is knurled.

Think about the apple,
just fruit upon the tree,
red ripe skin with tasty pulp,
better lets us see.

Providing us the texture,
of color if you will,
ADJ allows us space,
to give our lines the fill.

Life’s about the adjectives,
spice for the written line,
Verbs, you see, are motion,
and index things like time.  

Think about the race car,
going around the lane,
zipping fast with lightning speed,
better feeds the brain.  

Providing us the feeling,
of nature if you will,
ADJ gives the taste,
to writings we distill.  

Verbs contain the action,
and nouns have the heart,
adjectives add the flavor,
for cooks of written art.  

Life’s about the adjectives,
how else could it be,
that words paint the pigments,
in poems for us to see?