To A Poetic Time Line For Poets of Poetic Faith

To A Poetic Time Line

For Poets of Poetic Faith

The mind hangs in silence

All is stilled—thoughts lingering

Lazily as if in a cosmic animation;

No words drip from the faucet

That once streamed waters of creation.

Now there’s only empty air passing over idle lexis.

How deceiving is the thought.

Idle mind.  Like a dormant volcano

Quietly create its inner explosive flow,

So does the idle mind—its own.

No creation is void of time—

Time, itself, the elusive of all creation;

Is not she the Garden of Eden within herself?

Katydids are time in metamorphosis; babes

In the womb; black holes their dept of time’s time.

In all creation time is an instant of the eternity of self.

The poem is a creature of time—creation

In the womb if mind—fertile words.

All birth is a timed delivery.

While time its self does not wait

We must wait on the timing of time

And in time: The poem comes.