On Becoming A Nightingale

                The

           lonely flesh  I

  hide in   -  cast it aside

           and my spirit flies.  Tiny

              thoughts and blind fears so far away

                 the world is mine as I resurrect the wonders of 

                   ancient days that were never lost.

                      Drifting through the

                       thunder, storms I

                          create, and I'm

                             not afraid.

                                   I

                                a

                              m

                        not afraid .             

"A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why."

- - - Percy  Shelley 

For Sam's prompt at Real Toads.  Forgive me, Sam; I cheated a little.  I reworked a very old piece. This is actually a snippet of some song lyrics written 20 years ago.  I haven't written a better description of how poetry makes me feel since.