Isolation breeds boredom & getting lost in thought. The poets’ pen, not ink.

We sit in boredom & see things in macro just thinking thinking Think!

Then thought is broken by the voice of the heart & that’s when things get murky.

The collision & friction of the mind & heart produces an alphabet soup that’s quirky.

None of it forms words or makes any sense… blood rises & we get busy.

Arranging & rearranging letter by letter the heady task makes our heads & hearts fizzy.

As photons of inspiration crash into our brains considering the best words to write next.

We rack our brains for rhymes & our hearts to divine the great connects.

Couplets or stanzas start to form & all falls into place.

Next thing you know there’s a cloud on your page carrying the weight of a mace.

The hands can’t keep up with the frenzy & then it’s over as quickly as it started.

With every piece, thought & heart separate & we despair they’ll forever be parted.

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I see the world through a Painter’s eyes and process it with a Poet's's quite a harsh place for the soul. It scratches and wears your true self down, at times, but the Beauty is Addictive. I feel for everyone I encounter. Everyone I encounter is a teacher if I'll let them be. I Empathize with everyone I talk to & I Think about Everything-LEVi

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