Words
gather, build up, swell, and rise
to spill from the mind,
flow through the fingers,
and spill out of pens, pencils, and keyboards
caught up in currents
of concentration
and creativity.
Words,
free falling in a
joyous cascade of
imagination,
wild and swift as
horses thundering past.
Words,
smooth and silent
as owl wings
cleaving
the cold midnight air,
hunting for
just the right one,
plump with meaning,
searching with
keen bright eyes
full of
otherworldly intellect.
Words
channeled like water,
fleeting as an eddy,
powerful as tides,
flowing, rushed, and moving
at the
glorious sunrise,
rippling, dappled, and calm
in the
bittersweet sunset.
Words
for seeds of fading hope,
and fragile sprouts of love,
sown
in random rows
of longing need,
are poured down
from the poet’s well,
and for a moment
thirst no more,
and grow
a little stronger.
Beyond Panic 