When the sun rests,
and the owls stare.
When stars dance,
and kisses are shared.
He picks up his quill,
and he births art.
This world stands still,
and his world starts.

Time goes back to
when living was at its finest.
Poetry was our honey,
and its taste broke us free!

The wine touches his lips,
He begins to transcend our thoughts,
he teaches us to dream against our odds.
We become one with him.
He makes us swoon for
his living words.
And he has magic in his ink.

He dims his lights.
Takes strolls through woods.
Lurks around inspiration.
He sometimes waits for her.
Her beauty was the essence of something better.
Something of a hope, she was for others.
He understood that.
So he bleed out words.
And we read it, and we understood what love meant.

Now when I read.
I feel his pain,
I feel his passion,
his fire, his lust.
I feel what he felt,
And my turns ashen.
The beats of his heart,
revives mine back.
Engrossed I am.
Because in a dark world,
souls with such beauty as my author.
They drive me mad.
I realize something though,
I frolic and dance.
I might have hope.
Because if he was made,
God must have saved the mould.

#passionate #inspiring #authors
#authors #hope #joy