I paint with words
upon a page with far
more adept strokes
than any brush I've
ever wielded
I write down songs
from within, that
shatter dreary silence
in glorious triumphant
sound, tuneless, rhythm-less
for it is the song
of poetry.

I do not dance on feet
but in my soul I soar
aloft like an eagle
dancing on the wind
Do not dismiss
the power that words

They are the only magic
that remains, ours,
to heal a heart, mend
a spirit, to crush
a hope, or lift one high.

I weave a tapestry on the
loom of the page, with a warp
of words, and a weft of rhyme
and shape oh so madly the only
real magic I know.

Do not doubt the veracity
the true earnest seeming
nature of words. They can
be deceptive, and hide themselves
like thorns on roses.

Do not doubt the heartfelt driven
purpose of genuine beauty and heart
felt need to say what must be said.

Books, oh sweet knowledge and fantasy
cherished you are for the lore of magic,
the words you carry wound and bound within.

If you want to seize any magic. Learn
the craft of writing, poetry, stories, dreams
down upon the page.

If you want my power.  Say the right,
few, simple words, and all I write, all magic
I know, would be yours.

Sing with me, dance with me, dream with me,
write with me, but mostly. Speak to me, and
share magic.


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