The dead poet rises instinctively
to speak verse, free of mind
let the heart & soul do the talking
while society remains incognizant
un entranced by the eternal beauty
of the Earths sweet marrow.
Fall amongst the Autumn leaves
to procure the streams malignancy
for Winter is well on it's way
to isolate us from the tradition
of rising with the sun at dawn
and sleeping with the precious stars
that guide us gently through our dreams.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
The dead poet rises instinctively
to speak verse, free of mind
let the heart & soul do the talking
while society remains incognizant
un entranced by the eternal beauty
of the Earths sweet marrow.
Fall amongst the Autumn leaves
to procure the streams malignancy
for Winter is well on it's way
to isolate us from the tradition
of rising with the sun at dawn
and sleeping with the precious stars
that guide us gently through our dreams.
Written October 12, 2008- From Through Our Hands We Speak From The Heart