Bill Cantrell Poems

I can smell the rains of poetry,
Coming my way
Magic is in the air
Ominous clouds tower to the heavens floor,
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My name is Peace
Some refer to my essence as an attribute,
some define me as a facet of love
Oh how I have been distorted by articulated slander
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Once I was a poet
My mind embraced inspiration,
as she was fond of me
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Let me enter your pain,
I promise to bring release,
and with it, if you prefer,
I bring peace on your terms
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Morning glory,
You move me so,
In a way I can't explain
You milk the dawn,
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I wrote a poem,
On top of a star,
With hopes that you might see
That twinkle at the edge of night,
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Late for dinner,
Food for thought
What was once viewed repulsive,
cannot then be bought
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Walk with me on Sandra's lonely moon
You will find my footprints, I have roamed the barren dunes of sands, in order to find her, I indeed have found her inkwell
It is a red basin filled to the brim with melancholy, I myself have tasted these waters, there are not for the weak of heart, we have both lost loved ones and we attach our loss to this cold hearted orb
On bended knee, I beg you grant me audience,
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Poems will come,
poems will go, we bury them every day
Yet, some achieve immortality,
as fossils embedded in hardened clay
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My pen has wings,
It has the innocence of a child
It walks through walls and dreams
It is a student observing his masters steps
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