From Dust to Words to Diamonds

In the twixt and tween of the lines we delicately construct
Are the drops of inspiration that fall passionately onto the page
Dancing lively letters running and hopping, we selfishly abduct
They pull us and we pull them from their birth in love, hate, and rage

Like little children playing they come out and circle round in air
We pluck the ones splashed with vibrant hues, tinkling the harp
We try to dress them with new designer looks, golden spiked hair
They become our paintbrush, our psyche, our tunnel under tarp

We let them speak for us, like wind talkers or fortune tellers
With scented smoke and eight sided mirror, visions appear
They carry magic wands that do funny tricks, sold by carny seller
Revealing to heat seeking purveyor only what it is they wish to hear

These stellar steam engines carry our coal above, diamonds below
Covering us in waterfalls when we are too parched to have a voice
They lift us and give us shimmering warmth and the beauty of Donatello
They sometimes leave a mystery in their persuasion and a sigh of rejoice

These trusted workers, how we employ them, for we are all wordsmiths
Transporting our sentiments to the world by way of whispers and shouts
They persuade our lovers, destroy our enemies, resolve our conflicts
Like the “Emperor’s New Clothes,” naked, until we let them come out

For me, just the picture of Jane Austen, with quill pen, writing at her hearth
Gives me pause to wonder deliciously, what made her think those thoughts
What candle burning brightly at midnight watched her with jealous heart?
They lay in wait, these moonlight walkers, just anticipating to be caught

Posted in Poetry

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