The Privilege to Write


I travel in words, as some
Would travel on feet
I call my home, the written word

Though in her curious rooms
I’ve found a part of myself
The Inn to which I am most fond

Where in language I make love
With the alchemy of his world
This brief biology that sparks

Too much feeling for this vessel
There terms of syntax to light
My living days, alphabets in their

Fair rotation to live out the Seasons
Of a heart, below a Sun
That shines as golden as ancient poetry

Every dawn beckons me to
Re-create myself and silence the old
With but a touch of my glowing

Lantern to shine the hidden parts
Between the lines and inside the words
And scope the trove beneath

Every Buttercup sentance
Every slip of the tongue
On smooth transparent simplicity

That oversets the Rose of our lyricism
And dangles like a moon our
Inner skin for all to see in verse.

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10 thoughts on “The Privilege to Write

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