Oh to the bustling
imagery in a poet’s mind.
Genres colliding
Tirelessly inventing
From the soul outward.
Should the black sheep ever stray,
the shepherd of creativity
find him once more.
Honking on New York
streets,
Catching one’s partial face as the romance
of one wall
Could internally blind you from the other’s fate.
Seeking the absolute truth to all emotion
As a philosopher for thought,
A lawyer for conclusion,
The tree for oxygen.
As I breathe my last misfortune,
ensure that the world
does not proximate its time left-
because when we are consumed
with receiving,
it is because we have not been reborn
through giving.
So relocate from the Kafkaesque promenade
And find a new world
Derived of passionate, an uncaring level.
Like a child jumping from the world,
awe yourself in the universe
Pour your heart into a hymn of
success during choir that you may one day pray
just as loudly and astonishingly as on the world stage.
But for now, hone that pure flame
In the wind, that heaven-unearth whisper,
let it teach you, beautify your comprehension,
And bustle the boiling, brown rings on document caffeine residues
To blossom
the oh elegant,
mind of the poet.