Composing Poetry

Sometimes my poetry courts the absurd, As I attempt to faithfully record The profound whispers of an unseen world Which fluctuate between rhyme and discord. In twilight hours I often snatch fragments Of dreams from violet skies. I notice Marked changes in the weather and tend To look where the wind blows. Sadness and bliss; Darkness and light come in waves. I wait Patiently until I have reached a state Of stillness. Then the seeds of a notion Are formed in my mind. Slow evolution, Rather than brief lightning flashes of crazed Inspiration, is a much better way, In my eyes at least, of composing Art: A balance between the will and the heart.