Through Me
My poems write themselves
Their origins unknown
My fingers scheming elves
With ideas of their own
And what they have to say
Seems up to them alone
I feel them trace their way
In patterns on the page
At midnight and noonday
Plying their pilgrimage
Both whimsical and stern
Doing their daily rounds
And night by day I learn
To touch becomes to see
How life outside the bounds
Of ordinary things
Is fanciful and free
How an opened heart brings
What once was closed to be
As an opened heart sings
Through life to light through me
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMVI
Full Version: Through Me
QUOTE(+Steven Curtis Lance @ Sep 03, 08:19 PM) 
Through Me
My poems write themselves
Their origins unknown
My fingers scheming elves
With ideas of their own
And what they have to say
Seems up to them alone
I feel them trace their way
In patterns on the page
At midnight and noonday
Plying their pilgrimage
Both whimsical and stern
Doing their daily rounds
And night by day I learn
To touch becomes to see
How life outside the bounds
Of ordinary things
Is fanciful and free
How an opened heart brings
What once was closed to be
As an opened heart sings
Through life to light through me
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMVI
Beautiful my gifted friend. I know exactly what you mean. Hope all is well with you.
Rodger
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