by Louis LeVictorieux

Created on: July 02, 2007

As the poet settles for the day the question flows into his mind, where does the art come from? Determined to find out he wakes at sunrise like any other day; when ideas flow at their best. He settles in his usual place; a comfy chair or his favorite sofa. In front of him lies a blank page, ready to be filled with miniatures of masterpieces he will later create.

Slowly he closes his eyes, the question still burning in him. He inhales the sweet morning air and exhales his thoughts of last night. A new day has come.

As he sits there words play slowly in his mind. Words become lines, lines become verses and verses become poems. He abruptly wakes up from his early slumber. He quickly puts his hand to paper and begins to write. A rough version of his poem shoots straight up from deep within him. But he knows that a good poem straight from the heart is a rare thing. Publishers merely regard it as a feeble attempt to make quick cash'. No, it must first be revised and edited. Within a few hours he has a merely decent work. He decides to rest for a short period of time. He retreats to his kitchen, a little beaten and depressed as he still has not defeated the giant. Later he would return with new energies.

When he comes, he is on the moment of ecstasy. He quickly sits down and returns to the battle within himself. Here is the hardest moment for the poet. Many ideas flow freely in him, desperately trying to reach his mind. Yet he has to put only a selected few. The rest have to die away from him and be consumed by the Darkness of Forgetfulness. A few will survive though, to be used in another piece of art. Finally he reaches his ideal of a poem. Yet he still has to edit it, eliminating clichs, poetry mistakes and even some of his selected ideas.

At the end of the day, his question is answered. The heart, the center of his life creates the blueprints of the poem. Yet it can be too emotional for his audience to understand. A rich mixture of feelings of Warmth and Coldness, Light and Darkness, Joy and Sorrow, Life and Death, stirs thickly in it. But in the rush to the paper, many errors are committed. Errors that could be the line between his rent and the street. Yes, ideas may begin at the heart, but without going through the mind they will not last.

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