Inside poem
lies great wisdom
from the poet elders of past.
The ones who utter in Shakespearian tongues.
They become waves of verse
dancing in readers moon shaped eyes.
Insights rain upon minds to enlarge cells.
Landscaped with grass green tickles reader steps in breath.

Phases rustle as if self is tree and each word is leaf.
Fireworks of stanzas caresses eyes in beauteous splendor,
to launch a dream
And as their bodies of text echo
through doorway of past where time matters little
own voice whispers with gratitude and awe.

Reverence to applaud grand poem
scribed by master at candlelight
For their creative gifts do wrap my visions
into reality.

Moons watch me
Phases shift me
A wave bring me into existence
Show me the ways to the shore
Let me finally listen to the peace of the storm

I will sit below evening stars, and polish my words.
Picking them out from field of mind.

I shall meander through river of phases,
scooping them up to paint,
as pen becomes brush and brain expands.

I will polish my lyrics from heart,
as most sleep and my visions become reality
on scripted page.

I shall sit releasing polished poetry
to invite eyes to wander inside
when sun again shines and peace is mine.