Sunday, September 18, 2011


I am just a simple poet as the rhythm, rhymes and rhetoric rings in restitution.  
Sweetly clear like a crystal bell chiming against silent minds.  
In standing a prism, angular and astute with residual anguish but the transparency is obscura, like a photographer's still life in framed works, preserved in time.  
Perhaps an upside down picture in-between the convergence of pixels laying in the x of con-vexed purpose of mind.  

In the split second of imagery, the innocent are free and the guilty are privy to consignment of space and time.  Yet, the instant that light resonates like a halcyonic symphony when the sounds of indubitable composure becomes repose of an honorable condigned conscientiousness that convenes on the soul at that specific moment shines brightest in sight.  
For multiple eyes bear witness to the simplicity of life in movement of still lives.  
Eminent light effervescent in graceful giving to insight, the bright night merits the banishment of dark cracks in measure.

The polished glint of some preservation of shimmer, subsequent to the sparkle of invisible radiance, like the feet forgetting to dance, or the the voice to speak, the mind to wander, so that the heart can dream to remember a song or small step turned two step.  
The rest lies in the rise of light and images.