Like a vintage letter,
so fragile to open,
I admire its beauty for what it brings.
I read the lines,
using my voice first,
getting the rhythm
and style mapped out.
I read it again,
instinct taking over,
“What was the Poet trying to say?”
is a soul, encased in a locked box of words,
waiting to be seen
by those who understand
Like holding a butterfly,
I admire the seconds and minutes spent
with it and then release it back to the world.
"A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure." ~Charlie Chaplin