THE POET(AN IMMORTAL ENIGMA)

Alone as a hermit in a world of your own colour,
The rhythm of your pen
Reverberating through existence.
Through passion through pain
Through luxury through squalor
Through life through death
Through life after life.

Like a large butterfly perching
On flowers,thorns,weeds,trees.
Can a mortal behold?what you beheld
The communion in which you partake;
The brush and the colour which
You possess the freedom of your soul.
Your pen a staff of radiance
Yet alone you tread,
In a world of your own colour.