The poet wept , who once flowed smooth. Content in this reciprocal groove. While others felt the vibe come alive. Still other's merely wrote and to read they never took time. Some swallow like a shot of tequila fearing the burn but loving the buzz. Still others came and spread love and sipped the wine just because. The pages grew swiftly to many to number. While trying to read them all you may fall into a slumber. Some chance to find a pearl of wisdom , a drop of hope or a tale of love and surrender. Others typed harsh words that were not meant to be tender. The poet wept , when the page grew still with mediocrity. The art was now transformed from word artistry to number's game. While other's wrote , some sought someone to blame. Feeling your flow is the key to this euphoria. The muse sitting on your shoulder not forced but embraced lovingly. While other's sheer numbers flood the consciousness of one another. This was a peaceful poets haven....no beast of burden , no idol graven. The beauty of the word warrior is in the batttle. The burden of the beast is in the saddle! While some come to feed on the words of the elders. Some come to boost ego's and teach lessons that flounder. No one listens to the blustering wind, they just know that it is present my friend. The whisper of the wind now that is quite different. Lifting up leaves and spirits and fragrance... BJS(C)2003 Blessings On Your House!