Existence becomes all consuming,
dry and desolate, as we get wrapped
up in life itself, until the quenching
imagination within disappears into a
desert of desolation.
Yet deep within each individual,
beneath the reflective surface...
...exists a magical world...
Of flowing thought...
and liquid worlds...
|where the muses play their
Poets incline their ears to siren song
The surface breaks. The muses
speak. Their voices: the words of
our poets, dripping inspiration...
Bless the Poets, for they teach us to
hear the sound of own inner-voice.