Not quite prose but somewhere close.....a Rant if you will in poetic style, sit and read , stay a while.
"Poetry is not popular these days" what a crime that would be, if we cease to appreciate deep held
emotion, rising, expressing itself upon a page, written by my hand, or yours or some long ago Poet
struggling for a voice, nothing more. Beauty in words strung together like pearls. For should someone say
this to me, I would respond thus, a word expressed, a love refreshed, the soul to soar matters more than
the lack thereof, the unsaid thought, the regret the more. Open your mind, your heart, your core find that
which you knew not, and cherish what you do,what if finding it expressed on a page most lyrically suits
you? Ah therein lies the rub, the refusal to explore to know more. What a waste, for hundreds of years
thus has Man expressed these moments, these tests. From Shelley to Keats, Byron and Whitman, Thoreau
to Angelou , Barrett to Browning, Thomson to mine own self. My words compared to them insignificant
but humbly expressed in full knowledge I did my best!
The background is of a door I painted. I called it the door to my imagination. The picture is all I have left of this work, it was the door to a rented apartment I lived in for several years.
