In another lifetime,
I was William Blake.
When I saw his work,
That was my take.

He wrote about love
And the human heart.
I thought I was him,
Right from the start.

He wrote about London,
Tiger burning bright.
His influence looms
In whatever I write.

He wrote about life,
The human abstract.
I hope I was him,
I hope it is fact.

I flatter myself
To think I was him.
Deep down I know,
The chances are slim.

His mystical presence
Burns like a fire.
To be like him
Is to what I aspire.

(Published by The Society of Classical Poets Literary Journal February 11, 2018)