Words
We meet on equal playing fields,
we strivers wielding pens,
with timid hopes, exposing thoughts
to harsh or candid critique.
The selfsame words are ours to use
in manner of our choices.
They lay in helpless, inert piles
until maneuvered by our pens.
Just as the paint and brush await
the artists soulful touch
or notes without composer's skill
are only noisy sounds;
just so a simple word can be
an ignored out of fashion thing,
until lifted by the poet's skill
into phrases for the ages.
Some have used proud words in prayer
that others use in curses.
We poets take them charily
and in literature we mold them.
The gifted take a simple word
and recognize its virtue,
They can combine, connect and phrase
as no one has before them.
Dear Reader, take these offered words
and mentally assess them.
The author hopes the unity of thought
will have made them worth writing and reading.
(Reworked and expanded July 30th, 2014
From short rhymed poem written earlier and
named Mystery of Words.)
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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