Mind of the Poet

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.