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I had forgotten the restorative powers
of nature, music, and walking, combined
as one entity in my heart and in my mind;
I had forgotten how much I love the intense colours,
the deep sounds, the meaningful lyrics,
until I see them, I hear them, I feel them again,
but as if it were for the first time.

Nature has always fascinated me.
Being outside and free,
you see things that no one else can see.
All worries become like islands that lie far-away,
all your fears feel like they are being exorcised
from your spirit, and you want to run, dream,
enjoy your surroundings, and play.

My home is always with me,
the village that I have lived in and grew up in
never stops inspiring and surprising me.
All is quiet. All is still.
I never get enough of trekking for miles on my own
on a beautiful morning-
sensing and knowing that I am carrying out the universe’ will.

This morning I awoke and I heard the voice of nature
calling to me and inviting me to see
something mystical, wonderful, to recall something,
and to find something truthful and beautiful
in the chorus of nature’s rhyme.
This morning I chose to believe that anything is possible,
and that life is capable of everything, as are people-
because this moment in time is an example of life at its prime.

Out of the darkness,
a light in the sky of my life appeared before me-
unlike any star that I had ever seen;
this light fell to Earth, and immediately restarted the entire world before my eyes,
and allowed me to see
the underlying code of beauty that is the universe’ universal poetry:
a poetry so timeless, its influence and language
stem from the instant of the big bang
all the way into the distant future;
a muse so amazing, and inspiring,
its allure is everywhere throughout the stars;
however, what it inspires on every sphere
no one can ever be truly sure.
Like a light that you dream about,
I believed that this epiphany would change my life, and me;
but I had no idea that it would take me to the depths and the heights that it has,
nor show me the clarity of meaning, reflections of understanding,
so that they may be set-free.

I was unprepared for what came next,
I had no time to be awestruck, silenced, lost for words, or perplexed-
the rhyme of my life was being written, spoken, acted-out,
from my first sunset to my final dawn-
in an instant I understood everything,
and I knew whose beautiful face I had seen in my dreams ever since I was born-
I knew her name, I knew her face, I knew her heart, I knew her voice;
I knew that I had to find her, to tell her who she was,
and I knew that I would have to make a choice:
to tell her- my light, my inspiration, my muse- that I loved her,
in every way imaginable and always;
or to continue looking up at a light in the sky,
and constantly live a life clouded in a haze.

I chose love, and I am so glad that I did;
ever since that light, that star, first started to shine in my sky,
and whose face is forever imprinted on the inside of my eyelids,
I have been remade, rebooted, renewed, with a truth, a purpose,
and a power, the world has never seen-
a man, a friend, a lover, a son;
a dreamer, a believer;
a poetry machine.

Me

The authenticity of real life is a poet’s portal to new rhymes,
but the fluency to interpret the pattern’s that are there at all times
is a gift that, from my perspective, is a true poet’s reason to write:
to experience the wonder’s of the world, and see nature’s light,
and then with all the inspiration that a poet possesses
create something with a heart and a soul, and delivery it to the masses.

No matter the poet, no matter the circumstance,
in my opinion every writer has an adherence
to find, and interpret as best they can, the truth of the moment:
that which binds all, is accounted for, and was always present
when the poet infused the depth that created their snap-shot in the first place:
the reason they picked that picture to try and define like that of clock face.

To me a poet is like a photographer who takes a photo with their soul-
who sees something with their eyes, but who seeks to record, and often extol,
the spectacle that they have seen, experienced, and felt,
and relive with words that moment in a way into which a reader could just melt.
A poet should always strive to excite the mind of their reader,
to make them a part of the picture and not just an observer,
to make them feel what they felt when they connected with what they saw,
to give the reader a reason to return after they withdraw:
a promise that what lies in the sea is not everything that washes up on the shore.

eloquentia

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