Saturday, August 6, 2016

The question, the poetry.

From whence comes the poetry.
Come rising up it doth.

Like a great lava flow.

Surging, rising, and falling.

Up and down.
To and fro.

It will not rest,
Till rest I do.

To come forth birthed.
A full grown child.

Then nurtured to a final form.

Released again, anew.
To then come forth.

And visit you now.

And then to share.

This world of ours.