To Write a Poem
To write a poem, must I isolate myself from that
which poetry is made of?
To scour and grasp;
to feign reverie?
Must all be dead,
to breathe life into phrases,
That ideas may merge,
with some well-chosen words?
Should I lock myself in,
to open my heart,
for passions to flow
from the depths of my soul?
Is Time my friend,
or is it merely in my consciousness?
For what is daylight,
when darkness inhabits the soul?
Do I upset the routine of my life,
in my quest of an intangible,
to impregnate with meanings
so it may soar to great heights?
For what is a poem
without the emotions of a Shakespeare sonnet;
or the nobility of a John Milton verse?
So, in communion with Self
let me be transported
to the quiet world of thoughts;
where visions are woven
into the miracle of a poem.
ALV, 8/22/87
next poem - "A Song to my Childhood"
