y inner poet is French.
M Tipped beret and Mona Lisa smile. Her voice
rings out with playful laughter, her arms wide open,
leaping into darkness and light. She is beautiful and
earnest. Seductive and serious.
She was born on the wings of angels and birthed out of
pain and suffering.
I recognize her in the first morning light by the gentle
shores of the sea. She is bathed in God’s fragrance and
surrounded by belief.
What does this inner poet know for sure?
She is light. She is dark. Complete and unfinished. A
creature of God. A glorious paradox.
This poet lives hidden from sight. Covered in blue
scarves and white. Peeking through the window and
knocking on the door.
She lives at home inviting others to come and sit by her
Her imagination is infinite. She dreams of knowing
and being known, of embracing and being embraced.
She desires community, fellowship, peace and solitude.
She must speak of everything. The resonant and the
dissonant. The beauty and the depravity. The joy and
the sorrow. The fullness of life and the darkness of
She sits on the sidewalks of Life, holding a thin
cigarette and dreaming her dreams.
Her voice speaks in a beautiful accent. Tipped beret
and all-knowing smile.
My inner poet is a romantic. She is French.
• Ponder your inner poet.
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