Poetic Occupation

As a poet I am told I am a "maker" in Greek I am a "seer" in Latin taking words and plucking them from the primordial void plucking from the infinite fields grazing in the tall lush grass sucking on succulent peaches in the golden brown sun I take these words, images from the Collective Unconscious Soup and plug, upload them to the constant I-Pod on playlist repeat seeing the images which none but myself can comprehend I take those images bringing them down to the workshop the smithy the red-hot volcano I set about to work to craft to make these thoughts and expressions tangible understandable to all set up and ingrained in the senses of the mind permeating from above and now reflected and palatable to everyone Alone atop a high tower of gargantuan rock face terrain, standing alone working and changing swaying the elements Earth under my feet Wind caressing my hair Fire in my heart Water dripping into my soul Maker, Seer, Artist the poet takes each breath and exhales the colossal creation