Monday, July 16, 2012

conversations with poets p. 2

Oh poet o poet, you stole all the lyrics, left none for me. Inspiration is gone and no longer comes easily. Oh muse of music, now it is my turn to hold the key

Oh mirror o mirror, the lyrics are the shell, what they hold is everlasting. Inspiration is a well that runs deeper than the deepest well in the world, older than the oldest star in the universe, and as long as there are those to contemplate Reality's ineffable effulgence, inspiration will never run dry.

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