The Vivid Grove

An imaginary place born from the words that poets sing.

Alone with thoughts.

Reality stops.

Endless trees in a vivid grove,

Galactic flowers in a humble trove.

Waterfalls pouring into warm summer springs,

All around are words poets sing.

In the grove sits a vivid meadow.

Beautifully tranquil, it whispers hello.

A book on a table carved of stone.

Within all words known.

Sitting for ages,

Flipping through pages,

Looking for inspiration,

Forgetting all isolation.

On ink pages words held in place

Weaved into history. No escape.

The book left existence

Spreading its words with persistence.

Words that subject kings,

For these are words poets sing.

Author's Note

Please be as critical as you feel needed. All opinions are wanted and welcome.

Reviews

[Chris]

An interesting rhyme and rhythmic pattern.