WHEN POETS DREAM… “The World’s a Stage”, one adage often heard, one somewhat overly expansive, it might seem. Perchance, latitude inspires the written word, the muse forever dictates, the poet, may dream. Poets dream of fantasy, acts, beyond compare, legends, History’s cavalcade, fiction, and fact. Kaleidoscopic patterns both complex and rare, a mix evolved, of things tangible and abstract. They dream too, of eloquence simple to express, so that one’s perception, loses nothing in relay. Wishing wording is concise not given to excess, but is understood although brevity holds sway. Their hunger is to provide that social interlude, a sanctuary, or refuge, for analysis circumspect… A restful world where Reality may yet intrude, but a jaded mind can pause, to leisurely reflect. A wealth of appreciation and Social conscience, subtle nuances, or dour warnings poets provide… Fanciful Nirvanas flourish, at Logic’s expense, yet, Reality ‘s sombre manifests silently preside. The secret kingdom where the Muse holds sway, is a remote island, hidden, deep in Life’s stream. The realm of words and imagery, awaiting relay, a haven of the inner self revealed as poets dream. “The World’s a Stage”, is the adage often heard, one, somewhat overly expansive, it would seem. Does all this latitude, inspire the written word… or is it the Muse, dictates what the poets dream? ©. Copyright: Bernard de Silva. 11 August, 2014.
Posted on: Mon, 11 Aug 2014 03:30:17 +0000
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