Poetry is the fragrance of the flower
But not the flower itself
The flower itself
Cannot be described
Flower, fragrance, sweet aroma,
None of these really come close
But they are all we have
Such is the nature of poetry
It is all we have
To point to the indescribable

There is a secret intelligence
Inside all form, thought and deed
The true and persistent seeker
Will discover it
Only in silence and reflection
Will it reveal itself
Once found nothing superficial
Will ever seem the same

Why eat artificial sugar
When you can savor
The sweetest nectar of all

Go straight to the source my friend
If you are thirsty
Drink from the spring
Not the bottled water.

Photo by sgcdesignco on Unsplash