The Wordsmiths Art

There’s rhythm in the words I write, they come from in my heart
allowing me the joy to feel and live the Wordsmith’s art.
My mind picks up the cadence of the words my heart would say
and through this simple little pen they see the light of day.
I don’t know where they come from, but within me they all dwell
and as I loose them on the world they weave a wondrous spell.
A spell that tells the story of where my life has been;
the wondrous and bad times and all those in between.
I’ve felt chilling touch my own hearts lock and key;
and so denied the right to simply be just me.
I’ve seen the vision splendid; sunrise on the Plains
And watched my own world burning, praying for the rains.
I’ve been deep within all that’s wrong with life
I’ve walked with Angels – my one true sweet wife.
Now the words just come to me; a never ending flow.
I just tag along with them – I don’t know where they’ll go.
They speak to me of journeys, both of the heart and mind.
They speak of far-off places and all there is to find
And of course there are the bad times; wrongs of long ago,
disruptions of the Spirit; the heart to minds sweet flow.
There’s nought to do about the past except to know it’s there
and aim towards the future, and head there with more care.
For though it leaves its stain on you, that past is just the past;
what matters is the future, stains fade where you will last.
I think the simple words I write can help me find the way,
through all the mazes of my life into the light of say.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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