Poets are not much useful than living,
living the feel,living the thoughts and riding the river's mind
Stillness moves them and movements stay in their lines
Words need to flow then left behind as their hearts have carved something
in the moments of the shore along with the trail of the prints
They may or may not lead to anywhere
because the trail isn't a continuous realm
in space or in time
There are observations and descriptions
There isn't much persuasion or argument
Some could even looks like a random labyrinth
without any clear passage from one end to another
including past or future
Yet one could fall straight into the trap and
love it