Poetry From Afar

Sometimes, I wonder why my prose comes out the way it does; it seems like I always start trying to write those rhyming words of poetry, only to end up with this same old unconstrained way of mine. I have always been influenced by those masters of muses that intrigue my provocations, thinking this time, when I spill that ink, those scribbled words will not be just the same, only to drift back to this written delirium of mine. After all, nothing is more elusive than a well-written poem’s emotional charge. How we wonder, does word after word become so alive as to be felt deeply by the reader and never to be forgotten? After all, a poet is someone who burns with emotion, who—in the words of Mary Oliver—has “a mind that is lively and inquiring, compassionate, curious, angry, full of music, full of feeling” and who cannot bear to keep it in. For you see, I will always be a poet with a unique style that reflects the genius in my thoughts, surrendering a glimpse of who resides within me. It's simply the way it’s meant to be, writing these words of ordinary prose the way I do just for you.