The Poet's Inspiration
He sits alone in his cluttered room,
Glances up at the waning moon,
Plays with his pencil, snaps the fine lead,
Awaiting those words to enter his head.

He wants to write a poem for the girl,
But how to describe her? A diamond? A pearl?
Yet the words that paint his feelings so clear,
Are nowhere in sight; not even near.

What about personality rather than looks?
Is she kind or gentle? Does she read books?
He struggles to illustrate that girl from afar,
Maybe she isn't his sparkling star.

With his feet on his desk, he leans back in his chair,
He doesn't really love her, even if she's so fair,
She had deceived him, he was so very wrong,
His true love was under his nose all along.

As he pictured her beauty, his heart skipped a beat,
He swung his legs off the desk and sat forward on his seat,
Touching pencil to paper, he started to write,
He would finish this poem if it took him all night.

He couldn't believe he'd never noticed her charm,
He stopped, took a breath and tried to stay calm,
His heart was racing and his soul was on fire,
The thought of his friend made him full of desire.

Though that other girl's pretty, she's not his soulmate,
It's clear to him now that his friend is his fate,
So he gave her the poem and said with a smile,
"I've been searching so long when you've been here all this while."

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Rinskinski
Poetry
Other
writing Rinskinski
"Painters paint their pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence." - Leopold Stokowski

"Do you know that our soul is composed of harmony?" - Leonardo da Vinci
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