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