when you pose beside those flowers
and you tell me
it is spring! it is spring!
and that i should be happy
because it is spring time and all the flowers
are showing
their true colors
i stop right there
it is not actually the beauty that we are
caught inside
the prison of having to stay and
believe and
hold on to life with awe
it is the true colors
that i am stuck with
not even the spring that merely
springs it.
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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