Frankly speaking I hate it all
The mundane reality I live
For others' agendas overall.
This wild heart of mine
Lives for those tiny specks of time
When it beats of itself
No reason or rhyme.
In a realm of celebratory romance,
It beats without social bondage
In a self-loving trance.
The realm of the heart is wild; untamed,
Because it masters its own heartbeats
There is no dictation, no schedules, no appointments
It dances to its own creative commitments.
As the day dies; crestfallen,
The creative night dawns in a crowned glory.
I take to my den with a cup of Chai
To sink in the romance of a short-lived victory.
The celebration is strictly for two
Me and my creative soul,
So I ask "Who are you?"
To anyone who calls from the mundane world
I do not answer because I'm bound
To shackles of love for my own self
Rejoicing in creativity, I am found.
I appreciate the beauty of words
And they appreciate mine.
Together we create poetry, prose, stories,
There is no fear of the dictator - Time.
And when the clock strikes the hour
The romance ends,
Only to begin again as the next day descends.