I Don'T Write

My hands are either blessed or possessed I feel as if I don't write But that my spirit pours prophetic words onto the page The more I grow and age The less I have control over these urges Much less a hobby, these are emotional splurges I write the words in my heart that my lips don't speak Words so deep that they have their own melodies My heart sometimes denies these motions Because I guard my emotions My hand keeps my heart up to speed I'm a minister, I administer this literature These sonnets, these verses All you're getting is a miniature Sample of my vocabulary Because if I pour my soul all the way, I'll feel naked Some things should be kept secret Until I let go of my defenses and can take it Meanwhile, I let these angels use my physical being To compose these words that you are seeing To release me spiritually and give me the vision my eyes don't see I don't write these words These words write me