Some say it is sadness that makes a poet write. Some may
think it is happiness.
For me, too much sad or happy makes me lose my
words....they get lost in the river of emotion that flows.
It is when either the happy or the sad has had the time to
soak in, when the fires have raged and what remains are the warm glowing embers
that don't singe, but just wash me in the afterglow of the melange of feelings,
it is then that I sit beside that waning fire in the middle of the forest of my
tears and smiles that I begin to speak to you. That's when I say to you things
that even I don't understand, but they make perfect sense to you. That's when
my poetry breathes life into thoughts that tangle with your soul.....you are my
immortal muse and I am your blotch of ink on the canvas of my blank leaves.
MS
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