There lies a vast white meadow,
The four corners, its boundaries,
But no boundary can raze the creativity,
Adorning the soil of the great white meadow.
What shall be my metaphor?
What words does heart adore?
Just another stanza, I swore,
But no, I think I'll do some more!
Over pearly grass-blades a gallop echoes,
Black horse, dark as ink, erratic as night,
Leaves naught but words beneath its hooves,
Will love or sorrow paint the great white meadow?
What shall I write today?
What can my mind portray?
The amount of ideas we convey,
Greater than the Milky Way!
Stallion lays down an inky pathway,
It gallops proudly, footfall like a song,
Speaks loudly to man's mind, passion and love,
His soul seeks peace in the great white meadow.
What shall be my next rhyme?
What if I turn feelings into my chime?
Write about life, hatred or crime?
Maybe, I'll just take my time.
On pitch black steed travels a rider,
One who makes ink puddles come to life,
He who calls himself poet and writer,
And gives meaning to the great white meadow.
Oh, to live in the meadow,
Just how wonderful that would be,
To do as we wish, fulfil inner poet's desires,
Yonder and beyond, just within reach...
In dreams, whence began the great white meadow.