The Ocean Inside

I

a place made of cosmic dust and water is
inside of me, birthplace of poetry
red voices are echoing through the ocean
in order to create words of vignettes
the lines are floating above the water's surface

II

how can they escape from the dullness
of my mind? my thoughts are not a poem yet
i have to lure them with music, with adagios
the strings are playing and they are dancing
green layers of feelings transcend me

III

my hand is not writing on the keyboard
the keyboard is writing on my hands
i can not dictate my muse, she is shy
she only comes out when i rest

IV

the muse wakes me up and overtakes
rivers of oblivion, streams of consciousness
no thinking about the reader or the trophy

V

a place made of muses and flow is
inside of me, birthplace of poems
pink voices are echoing through the vignette
in order to create words of a special form
the verses are drifting through clear water