INSIPID ll

INSIPID II

They write..

Such gorgeous lines..

With curves wrapping 'round a waiting mind..

They loop about and fly and dive,

As you try to catch the meaning..

Of this wonderful butterfly oh so spry.

I am flaccid in my understanding as I stop!

Gasping for breath at the chase..

Lost in the meandering musings of a master's kind.

I pen a ditty of farmers watering arid lands,

While the master frolics,

Ink in hand..at the ready...of maiden voyages of the Titanic..

Paintbrush in lively, but deadly hues...

The deflowering of a ship,

Cleaved in two..

By a cold giant of the sea..

The unsinkable, the unthinable..by the immovable!

I wonder at the depths of such imaginings,

While I slog through mud and toil..

I am stutter and stumble..

Whilst the master sails the breeze,

Cuts a swath with mighty pen and tease,

Gallivants, swashbucklers they must be...

Creating waves across the seas!

So much like the ripples in time.

They leave their calling card..

A Titanic of their own making,so fine..

Unbroken, unyielding..

Safely navigating past an iceberg waiting,

And they succor me in my bewilderment!

Peace