by Ralph Koschnitzke

Created on: March 16, 2010

I look, finding myself somewhere between a dream
Sitting on a drop cloth of spilled words used to paint
Portraits of presumption and visions of vagaries
Playing scrabble with the remnants of a raconteur's leftovers
Looking for the appropriate phrase to turn an idea
Into something only those who also sit on drop cloths of definitions
Could possibly relate to a moment in their time.

My canvas is simple, as I let words escape from behind bars raising
A collection of thoughts, carried in between and placed with emotions.
My spirit becomes a prophet as it turns
Observation and experience into revelation or simple rhymes.
I become a servant to intention as I draw out a definition
Onto a blank vision of white or perhaps a withered fold of recycled nature
Served with one purpose but finding much more usefulness in a poets natural realm.

I show pain, sorrow, joy and justification to weary eyes sometimes hiding shredded souls.
I attempt to show that truth translates into every breath, building a basis of faith.
I aspire to bring forth life, love, laughter and hope within even the darkest expressions
I hide many meanings, and magical moments into what seem only simple stanzas.
I let the story fold sharply and unfold carefully, nothing cut between its lines.
I bleed, and it is read, in hope that sometimes more than one cry can be heard.
I ask questions of life and my beginnings.

The endings seldom ask why,
For the answers seem to come in other words spoken
In a time of our future.
Even the answers that tried to hide as a poet re-reads a note of love or friendship
Expose themselves in this same time and become clear,
Lighting a path perhaps, or providing an undercurrent of energy
As I look and find myself again somewhere between a dream, sitting on words dropped from above.

Learn more about this author, Ralph Koschnitzke.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.