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THERMOSTAT…
In the silence of its tomb,
The stalwart mind goes to labor
as bloating solitude rumbles
like a hunger belly filled
with nothing but empty cravings.
In the ocean of thought,
undulating waves Of words
froth on intervening sandbars
blocking waiting shores.
Over the horizon lay unchartered beaches
with countless grains of sand waiting
to be footprinted with depths poetic hope
filled with flowing images of fulfilling faith.
To say that silent paperless words are golden
is no less than thinking black is ugly and the mind
has succumbed to the confinement of silent slavery;
and has become impervious to the flowing rhythmic
meter of metaphoric words imaging gifted creativity.
Now is the time to unshackle the poetic thermostat.
