We often seek love
with mind and logic
not knowing
that in its world
It lets us walk
on water,
It lets us see
the rainbows
in pitch-black darkness,
It takes us
to the moon and back
It fills the void
In our souls,
It lets us plant
the seeds of hope
In barren lands
Don't you see?
Nothing in this is rational
My Dear!
Everything in Love,
and its world is Magical...

The poetic apprentice constantly
ponders and plans.
He dreams up wondrous writings that through critisms can stand.
He imagines mystical miracles he elaborates with his hand
Unending possibilities his vast
Mind demands

He scoures the depths and peruses vast heights.
He indulges crisp, cool mornings and envelops the nights.
He listens for lyrical lullabies and observes majestical sights.
He journeys throughout space
as he embarks on jaw-dropping flights.

The poetic apprentice searches
The depths of his heart
He dissects it and reads it
And tears it apart.
Then divulges it's secrets
And crafts them into his art

He wishes so dearly that his
Work becomes no disaster
He keeps his senses in tune
In hopes he'll one day be a master
As more work pours out the
Pressure grows faster and faster
But he'll slow down and humble himself
As his work evolves and becomes vaster

Now the poetic apprentice sighs
A great sigh of relief
He wipes off his brow
As he mumbles "good grief!"
His work is now over his
work is complete.
He knows they will like it.
Its his faith, his belief

The poetic poet now bows
To you, his work is bequeathed

Call it Quicksilver-
something I hold to,
leave and return to,
lose in dark leaves;
never quite keeping,
thoughts flit, and are fleeting,
covered with sheaves.
Sleep, and its missing,
ne'er to return;
Hold! Feel its kissing,
overtake with its burn-
late to my tongue,
but one part of the sum,
sifted like rays in the afternoon sun.
Call it Quicksilver-
that thing dreamt at mid-day;
call for it, longing-
but its gone;
slipped away.

Imagine an enchanted;

Yes!

Clearing;

A flourishing verdant
evergreen grove,

Raining
oxygen-filled particles
of Wish Light

A vintage letter falls
from the elder oak boughs;

Floating to your feet

Sonorously you read,

"Breathe
In
Deep"

another day, another lotion,
sighed, “much rather be making potions.”

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

what's your fancy, what's your trouble?
basin clogged with dwarven stubble?

make one balm,
you've made them all!
concoct a cream, a cream?—a cream!
one more grog burn,
swear I'll scream!

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

give me dragons, give me daggers,
give me jewels with emerald feathers!
give me—“what?
what's this, right now?
of course I know exactly how!”

roots to find, true essence to distill,
adventure?
no, but pays the bills.