What our words might fail,
our passion fills that empty space.
When our passion fails,
our Muse takes the fall from grace.
Why our Muse appears to fail;
our understanding was flawed.
How our understanding fails,
our dreams are ignored.
Where our dreams fail,
our words are hollow places.
As poets we try to interpret the dance
‘tween tree and gentle breeze.
Embrace the delicate sway
transformed to shadow, from flame.
Open our heart by way of ear
and hear the whispering winds.
The tales it tells through the years
to the leaves on trees it bends.
We try in vain to master the tongue
forgotten to time’s lonely song.
But we watch and understand
what passion is destined to become.
© Dec 9, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic