This idea, this illumination, this freedom,
Was only a glowing spark
Until the winds of change with names like
Hume, Whitman, Eliot, Pound,
Fanned the embers into flames.
Structured lines became soaring phrases;
Stanzas became sentences;
And always, images -
To raise emotions, to touch, to create new visions,
To show that the secrets of the heart are shared,
lay in its cadences.
What was once free
I fear has become bound.
Just as a child grows beyond its parent
It still must acknowledge
And honor its lineage.
Without understanding,
there are only words.
I read the words.
I await the flames.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.14 seconds at 11:21am on Mar 07, 2021 via server WEB2.