beholding sun, sending gold sunshine
I began filling stream-cut, steep ravine
with light and power, illuminating
dark, dead, eroded corners of mind.
then fetched water from blue heaven
frecking with abundance and passion,
to let soft roses and tulips blossom,
in an ancient, hardened eye garden.
without no reason no rhyme
gambling all to create sublime
I invoked letters from the psyche
in dabs of soulful, undying rhyme
to define love worthy of Gods,
that’d soothe and succor souls
with just the power to override,
Aphrodite’s jealousy and pride.
but destroy all that I create,
thou, the fickle finger of fate.
I’d build beauty structures again,
La
Vive! O ye fickle finger of fate.