A poem – one of solitude’s trinkets. Or why I don’t write sometimes -
I often yearn for
The wordless place
Of quiet brushstrokes
And gently rustling nature,
Where falling backward
In total trust
Without direction
Feels as perfect
As its common opposite.
Where the restful process
Of simply being
Is creativity enough.And this place,
By its simple perfection,
Without judgment, labels,
Goals or true effort
Can transform a nothingness
Into a somethingness
An objet d’art from and for
My unlonely spirit,
At the very least.Though sometimes it rends
Manifest trinkets
Worth barter or trade
Readmission to the throng,
Symbolizing thereto
A “successful” and reasoned passage
Into and back out
Of Treasured Solitude.But trinketless passages
To and from
And about the altered state
Between the two
Hold no less
Intrinsic value
For the True Lover
Of Solitude.- Trish Wareing (c) 2009
WoW, Trish, that is one wonderful and thought filled poem. I was blessed with reading it.
Thank you, so much, for sharing it with the masses … 8^)
hmmm… is there some way for me to share it over on my wee blog?
jeff.