OEUVRES OF A POET

I love to write poems about mirrors Reflections resonates the depth of my soul So can somebody give this heart a pen Because hands can not write it's true intentions I love to write poems about clocks we keep them yet we still lose time, how ironic A magnificent prologue of references How do we define time without using the work of its hands I love to write poems about photographs Wildflowers, earthworms, birds, faces, Black and white yet colourful Our old wrinkled hands hold memories of our own adolescence Then we smile our minds to nostalgia I love to write poems about Roads The curves and curves that lead to circles that lead back to ourselves Where flaming leaves bloom and blossom into an oblivious caravan's labyrinth And open roads hold most closed secrets I love to write poems about poets Those sneaky sweet sweettalk liars and robbers armed with words Crumbling their souls to fill hearts with hollow spaces Poets have lived and died a thousand lives before their own I love to write poems about love Universal a language love reverberates To share a sandwich and a soul sage That anchors deep within like upside down question marks I love to write poems about everything Everything is poetry