A Truth Called Spice Poem by Bill Cantrell

It is not the complicated people or poets,
That I find inspiring
Nor the ones groomed in poetic protocol,
or refined etiquette
Salt is a powerful spice of balance,
and the earth is where we began and end
How refreshing are the vessels that pour out,
Substances of worth,
which spawned by creativity,
weather based on life's experiences,
or dreams of wants and desires,
geared to the palate of desires common to clay,
as well as to the realm of poetic bliss,
Yet staying within the boundaries of common decency
Of all the children born from inspiration,
poetry is her favorite and blessed are those
fortunate enough to feel her touch, yet those feeling
her embrace are especially blessed
All spices sprouting from this good earth,
they have their moment, then fade,
some quicker than others, as with poetry also
The firstborn of poetry was the spice of creativity,
and she is a woman with many children as well as disciples
The page appears as fallowed ground
The lines are furrowed rows of virgin maidens,
waiting with a suitor, that of which is inspirations choice
Yes, arranged marriage
Do not fret, you have the spice of creativity
to arrange her or him to your hearts desire,
As the pen is your compass,
as the ink is your blood, and we all know,
Life is in the blood
So, let yours flow as streams, rivers or seas
and oceans,
But do not neglect the blue and green waters
Why?
For inspiration swims in both
As for me?
I am ready to jump in where the green and blue meet,
and if I am fortunate,
I will meet you and we will swim in the deep