Source of our muse

Innate to heart is soul’s creative urge, crystallising as a rhythm shaped by mind, borne by subtle desires that tend to surge, conjuring a poem divine aligned, delighting as we script words as assigned. Even when listless our gaze, as we laze, imbibing what it can, presence does graze in meadows of vibrations in its range, as earth life continues to so amaze, in this realm of contrast, our soul finds strange.