A poet’s mind never sleeps;
you can hear it crying through tears when the soul weeps
and even inside the journey of a dream
it lays awake,
roaming off into fields of imagination
where summer leaps.
Sometimes, often…as I look off into the sunset,
I find myself asleep with open eyes
standing off to the side of a dusty road
in the middle of somewhere.
I can feel the appreciation of the sky
as it melts into a soft ambition
of radiance…and I hear the sounds of joy
whistling the soft song of familiar voices.
They echo, vibrate and are heard
as I listen to silent winds tiptoe
around the egos of thirsty trees and through the thoughts
of abandoned sidewalks. Through this vision of promise
life, itself, is a journalist
watching, waiting and writing the verse of a new day
where poetry’s eye ascends
into the horizon of tomorrow’s sunrise.
Tarringo T. Vaughan