Flow. Allow the droplets of inspiration form words upon the page.

Growing with intensity. Its beat in sync with the rhythm of this age.

Let each word gently flow into its mold, and identify itself within the focus.

Reflecting emotions through its depths to this reader's heart, freeing me of my solus.

I ask for this as I stare at this grand canvas ,

my eager eyes hovering over its surface.

Inexplicable feelings circling in my chest,

If forced to name them, Psyche and Thrill would fit the best.

How could I have not been excited to watch a story unfold,

Waiting and expecting for Understanding to take hold?

Falling in love with many elaborate puzzles,

and all those clues and symbols- oh so subtle.

I see language thrive, and words speak,

let comprehension reach its peak.

Imagery tingles the senses of the reader, allowing a heart to feel with one another,

and every human of different style and grace, fly upon these words along side the other.

I learned that in every poem, words flow in a stream,

it's depths and constant rhythm, connecting you to me