January 3, 2014 by phicks2012
Writing poetry is something I do, and when inspiration — personified by Lyrica, the newly hatched muse of Lyric Poetry — strikes, I cannot seem to resist or to defend myself with any degree of success. Taking flight seems to have no effect, since that pesky Muse will simply dog my steps until I succomb to her relentless blandishments.
I have therefore accepted/conceded that surrender is preferable to running around mumbling poetic lines under my breath and causing folk to stare until such time as I can find writing materials — thus finally placating the Muse.
The verse below was written — for the most part — during one such flight, and I hope you find that it was worth writing down in the end.
Believing is knowing, despite what is seen with eyes by no trickery veiled,
That dreams can come walking through meadows of green where fancy cannot be curtailed.
Belief is perceiving with senses unmarred the wonder of fantasy’s scope,
And knowing that magic can never be barred from hearts that have kinship with hope.
Believing in that which the eyes cannot see is giving to magic its due.
Enchantment is real if we want it to be, and what we believe can be true.
The compass of mystery cannot be known or measured with workaday gauge,
Its boundaries only by yearnings are shown, unconfined by reality’s cage.
Believing is trusting that dreams can fly free; with faith that their wings can be real,
And spread on the wind, incorporeally, can navigate currents of zeal.
Believing is knowing that miracles teem; that something of magic survives;
That wonders can ride on the back of a dream, exalting our commonplace lives.
[17 March, 2013]