the yellow tree

I will never be paid for this. Poetry is my refuge. I was made to be a channel. And so I release. Because it is what makes sense. Because it is how I breathe.
Nature never asked us whether we liked the Spring. Without the experience, how could we know? But it was in her to give, and so she breathed. And love was born in a thousand shades of green. Ecstasy. Yet even in my admiration, adulation, is she praised? No. my explosion rolls forward, but it was she who ignited my flame. And my light will inspire another though to me they go unnamed.
Create. Because nothing else so completes you. Because it is the water of these words that moves with faith. As each new fire unfolds and flowers, receive her secret, her soul, her song. And through your words be singing.