I am surrounded by artless mediocrity...

I must swallow the eloquence that drips from my lips...like honey from a hive...warm..sweetly alive..

And wait for the freedom moment when  the poet and muse meet in the heart hallways.....always the longing for depth driving  further inside. The private vaults exposed and  plundered ...truest muse never a static sculpted port for poetic anointing.

Words artfully  scribed are as deft and sharp as the sculptors knife....cutting away the unnecessary to see within the clay of a hearts moment.