From this placid moment pressed on;
I am a Poet: The echoes of a borrowed whisper,
Of expired time, a mishmash into now, and the dire dreams that awaits me.
The fabric of my existence lives in our contributions to poetry.
My depth can only grow and flourish;
Belonging to a vessel in this community.
If you should go on-- looking for me;
Throw a pebble in the pond and you'll see who I am.
I am a Romantic Artist: A Movement to inspire.
I am the snowflakes of those envious cherry blossoms taking aim at.
I am the pin dropping in the silent room.
I am that butterfly gracefully taking flight you tired to capture.
I am a favorite song of forgotten time.
A wooden nickel on pins and needles;
I walk with no vengeance nor the value of it,
I welcome scathing remarks
To which I will turn to the other cheek
And appeal to your better Nature.