I, sometimes, dream about writing that Great Poem, using all the words no other poets has ever used. Adjuring to any poetic status quo, I held on to my Muse’s fingers, her right hand, hoping to never be wronged. “Use YOUR left hand and fingers and write that Calligraphy,” she urged me!
“But I am right handed,” I quickly said. “Where is that promised land of inspiration?” It was asked. A poem rose out of this bier, since a bier is a grave, just like a lily this verse stands out as it rose. For in this field submerged by lilies, you shine bright like a Rose; I love YOUR comely visage. Poetic in Nature, Butterflies were meant to be out and about but I feel them within My Heart, full of motion going through my stomach. You give me butterflies when you talk about how much you love me.
And that is because that Love radiates through your eyes as your utterance crackles through my Being.
© Christian D. Koumtog
Written on Thursday March 13th, 2014