Breathe (about writing poems)

The words flowing off the quill

The grand strokes of greens and blues

The master plans that will help all those in need

Such Grand Passions that a chosen few possess

My life is in awe and bafflement of them

Such clarity, such all-encompassing designs

Truly stokes of genius

With barely a wrong word or idea

Who is able to master this?

Who cannot recognize the genius?

Where, where?

Do these grand passions arise from?

I, for one, have no such clarity

I have no such brilliance of a grand design

My life seems destined to the small

The series of small passions

I am told what I write is born of passion

The accumulation of these small passions

Which creates a grand passion within me

Perhaps they are right