Life may be enjoyed, either in prose or poetry
Two distinct styles, bubbling from within
A predictable script, or a daily surprise
Both acceptable styles of living, reflecting inner urge
One from the mind, the other beyond
The story that is the mind, an epic in prose
Cannot be captured in brevity, of a poem
Just outside the grasp of the mind
Lurks not just another world, but an infinite number
They cannot be described with words, whether rich or miserly
Inner poetry spontaneously sings, the music of the soul
The staid prose of the mind, takes the wonder out of life
