Creating Poetry

A stricken body-
Dark tinged, skin drawn tight-
Lays in the lap of nature-
With leaves, with flowers,
With butterflies, with bees,
With waters and under them,
On moon and even beyond that.

The lids move;
The heart is heard beating again.
The beat, as harmonious
As the advancing waves,
Has some sweet thing to say.
The heart beats with those of flowers,
With those of waters, of waves,
With those of sky and of earth.

From beneath those opening lids
Sparkle the eyes-those precious jewels.
They have something to interpret,
They have something to say.
They have the sight to pierce the heart
That of things, matters, beings,
That of love, hatred and fear.

The lids open-
Sweet life is restored.
Accompanying it blooms the flowers,
Blows the wind, and all.
Sweat leaves the pores.
-And the result is sweet poetry.