This precisely is the secret hour, that brings to an end
of the long wait of patient bats, now let them ecstatically mate,
mind, wakes up from stupor,in creative instinct,becomes a ******,
though peering in to own hidden shadows, from a pantomime past.
Silence of many shades reign in the mansion of magic beyond space,
along the labyrinthine inner corridor, lighted seldom or even never.

The dark nimbus clouds above, purge, thunder roars,victorious,
outside the cave rain in torrents lashes, winds whistle like possessed,
heart fills with an urge urgent,words fumble to express with verve,
blind bats, hanging upside down, wake all at once, shaking wings,
they arise creating a cacophony,then the transformation is quick,
what results is a frenzied ****** fight for colored words to mate.

The pairs suited most, in the crowded cave , intuitively selected,
commandeered, brought together, merged perfectly, without effort,
blending with the rare beauty of light filtering in, striking images
of different hues appear on the screen, moving pictures of creation.

Everything is still here except,a fecund sense, awareness in fire,
thoughts are in a churn, turn towards the starlit firmament,
and fertile red earth doused in the scent new rain roused,
blue water expanses, rippling moves as waves after waves
all finally settle, mind's creative pool now, is a placid reservoir.

Astonished he is, by the immortality of words, that acquire
an escape velocity to project, shoot up through the clouds,
it's payload, is carried by a  fuel, alchemy created propellant,
that ensures poetic transcendence,the fused golden words live long.

The creative moments, are pure  wonder, when within the folds
of primordial sound,he waves silk blending it with golden threads,
The poet becomes the word first and the word speaks through  him,
poem is a canal perennial,for the flow of desire, hope and pain concealed deep,all projected by the  mind continuum that never sleeps.