Watercolor

When poetry turns into an unexpected work of art

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

Today, I wrote the most beautiful poem in the world
something so pure I wouldn’t mind dying –
the perfect song of praise
hewn from the dark forest of my secret heart.

Not a wasted word it was,
rhythmic, elegant and holy,
poetry for the ages,
why sages dance,
timeless in its pauses
with a long white beard and a
thousand Santa Clauses
ringing their bells for love.

Yes, I wrote this poem today
or rather, it wrote me,
flooding onto a singular white page,
which I amazed at having said it all
and having signed my name,
left, for a moment, on my favorite chair,
beneath a tree in the garden of delight,

then turned inside and took my leave
to celebrate the unexpected visitation of my muse
by listening to Mozart in the living room.