Tonight, O ye poets of oldwhen the muse's voice seems a thousand nights away Be the lesser voices, still potent prove for me and my quill to be moved and swayedFor this soul needs stirringthe spirit must feel again...the blood of poetryflowing through the veins until pierced, there's ink enough that all voices are silenced

inspiration, Ishaisms


A violent summer storm'twas said took him washed ashore, unrecognisedsave by a copy of KeatsO poet, your passion your rebellion I applaud'Mad' may you have been But you're one of my godsThe first to truly inspireto whisper straight to my soulyour words came to lifethe moment I held them close And though I may wanderI… Continue reading Shelley