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
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