Seasons to Sing

Poetry is another philosophy of life

I’ve been drunk on words
For a decade of my golden-bronze
Youth that found inner maturity
On reading poems

Finding truth and beauty
In the voices of human hearts
That were left on pages

There, as if for me to read
The writer is the sacred audience
I’ll never roll my eyes
At a work of art, because

I know how much sweat goes into it
It’s a labour of love
I’ve been drunk on lyricism

For lyrics of a few minutes
That burned and blew
In so much mental well-being
It made divinity accessible

And the stars seem more near
Broadening the inner horizon
Like a fresh mind

Poetry does not require
Work, it’s a play
Let me explain
Just read more of these words

Inserting images of rebirth
And autumn unimaginable
Of the destiny that was spring

The spring I have found again
In mental vocabulary
We all possess this poetic capacity.