The mind of a poet is such a curse
Its search for words an endless thirst
Poets cannot sit and simply be
Soak in the splendor of all they see
Confronted with beauty which defies description
A quest for lyrics is the poet's prescription
Thinking wordy expression will enhance the sublime
Poets lose the chance to be lost in time
Though graced with wonder again and again
The poet can't find that elusive zen
I sat this week and watched a stunning sunset over the mountains.
And my mind was spinning the whole time looking for the words to describe the incredible sight.
And before I knew it, the sun had set on me, my relaxed enjoyment of the moment, and ironically, on my creative spark as well.
There were no words, but stupid me tried to find them anyway.