A Poet’s Heart

0617180612aMorning Rambling: 3 am and sitting in the garage trying to carve out a comfortable place to write. Where is the thought that brought me out here in the first place? Long gone.

Something about how artists live in two worlds – the reality of every day and yet always somewhere sideways reaching for some sort of clarity in all of this. Of course, there is none. Clarity that is. We all do the best that we can. I often think how much easier it would be to have never discovered the sideways. I envy people who don’t know what I’m talking about. I wish I could find the others who know what I’m talking about – the poets most surely.

I think poets and musicians come the closest to knowing what I speak of. I have no poetry in me anymore. These days the sideways consists of clouds that say nothing. That crack in the universe between worlds is not even visible anymore. Simply surviving will do that to you. I imagine in the zombie apocalypse no one has the time for poetry and side worlds.

There is a whole lot of us out here – only running into one another now and then. Mostly because we pretend to be someone else out there in the real world.

Nope. Not crazy (my mother had me tested). Not even wierd. Just me the way I’ve always been. Trying to find words to describe for you what it’s like to be tuned into other worlds (metaphorically speaking).

I miss the white spaces the most. That is where the words hang out. I look for them in the clouds. Perhaps that is the problem. The clouds are all so dark these days. No matter. The sun always finds its way through and the words will return. Patience is a virtue I struggle with, but I’m working on it. 🙂

You surely did not read this far. I don’t expect you to. If you have a poet’s heart, perhaps you kept going, will keep going. There are precious few of you out there. I wish I could find you.

You are in luck. It seems that I have nothing else to say. It will be a sunrise morning, I’m thinking.

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