~*~

Here I sit just staring,
At this white and barren page,
My vacant mind's clamoring for
The wisdom of a sage.

If my soul were that of poet,
I could write of love and life,
With care and sensitivity,
Bringing joy ~ not ever strife.

If songs dwelled within my heart,
My poems could rhyme in beats,
The readers would then sing along
And be rousing from their seats!

Perhaps with third eye open,
I could write of things unseen,
Tapping into other realms
Of then, and now, and been.

If this mind be not so closed,
I'd see both sides of matters,
I would not use my quill to fence
And leave this page in tatters.

Perhaps, with an artist's eye,
I could use my pen to paint,
Of nature's beauty in a poem,
From the lofty to the quaint.

If I opened self to Spirit,
My vision then would clear,
My writing would reflect that Light,
And all would see ~ and hear!

~*~