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How Poetry Comes to Me
June 22, 2011
Like a stream flowing to an ocean,
An eagle flying over the mountains,
The sun peeking through the trees,
A vision comes to me.
The smell a warm aroma,
The taste a tantalizing treat,
The feel a rose’s petals,
The sight one that cannot be missed,
Visions become ideas.
Like the ending of a soulful song,
A story coming to an end,
The plays final curtains rise,
Ideas transform and a poem is evolved.
© Ankur M., Jericho, NY
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