The Misfit Poet Poem by (c) Colorofsky

O, to Paint the Heart as Earth's Colors unfurled,
Yet Blocked by darkened Walls of a Material World.
The Misfit Poet Paints on, till Walls succumb.
Each Poem, a Gate, ...for New Days, to come.

New Days to come, New Days to come,
As Riddles, of Mystery.
Like Origins, the Cosmos, Stars,
A Wind blowing so free.

As a Randomness, a Randomness,
Woven into All that is, All that will be.
The Woven Fabric of Eternal Essence,
As Clouds, rising from the Sea.

With Streams, Rivers ever Circling,
The Statement of Life doth roll.
Through splashes by a Misfit Poet,
A World, may briefly catch its Soul.

O, though with each Verse the Poet Scribes,
All Things, they still remain the same.
Like Revolving Doors, Evolving Lores,
Are the Make-up of Life's Game.

What of Life's Game? Whence first it came?
Of Running Waters 'tis where it did begin.
Yea, but indeed in fact, the Whole World cannot,
Live on the Head of a Pin.

For just as the Misfit Poet scores a Piece,
All create from Their Inner Art.
That onward Quest, the Human Test,
To Balance out Life's Heart.

So, to Paint the Heart as Earth's Colors unfurled,
Still Blocked by those dark Walls of a Material World,
The Misfit Poet Paints on, till Walls open wide and true,
Each Poem, a Window, ...for New Days, to shine through.