Sometimes…I don’t have anything important to say;
But me? I like to play around with words anyway…
And I’m wondering…
Can I pull something from this still sea of tranquility?
Without inspiration must I abandon my word ability?
Yes, I’m pondering…
On the meaning of what I do as I search for a reason…
To share my words with you in and out of my season;
Am I really floundering?
In a sea of useless thoughts they call a writer’s block?
Or if I without thought write will my purpose unlock?
Am I time squandering?
Will truth emerge from these floating random words?
If I hammer long enough will inspiration flock as birds?
My ideas meandering…
An epiphany spark, imagination lights in bright yellow!
My fractals of thought ordered, tasty like a lime Jell-O!
I do love to go wandering…
I enjoy spelunking the unknown labyrinth of my mind!
Journey into my inner mystery; Truth is my joy to find!
Might of inspiration roaring!
Flowing words of true beauty, Truth is key, words unlock…
Spirit’s purpose over-rides emptiness of my writer’s block.
A Wordsmith reverently opens his paint box of words;
Expertly organized: color, texture, taste, sound, and sight;
To interlace appropriate names given motion by verbs;
Carefully align; hammer into shape; shine a favorable light;
On a treasured nugget of truth, a thought in safety girds,
The framework of culture; the very heart of nation’s might;
Wordsmiths find joy and purpose in high use of words.
A Wordsmith carelessly digs in search of a prurient word,
In disheveled box, looking for the right red and darkest black;
To scandalize, incite lust, create excitement, and be heard;
Red raw meat to draw them, in hopes of green bills in a stack!
Carefully places words in artful but base advertising blurb;
Hide death at the core; no care for society going off the track;
Purpose undermined by greed, joy is lost in truth deferred.
In the midst of a saffron reverie, my tissue paper dreams caught on fire!
Blazing in hot red-orange bravery! Then scattered swirly- ash funeral pyre;
Settled in an indigo mood unsavory; like a leaden December sky’s icy mire;
Mourning rose colored art knavery, which only joy of pure hope sets afire!
Sweet lavender prose mean slavery, to they who Wisdom’s words desire,
Pure white ideals more than savory; expressions of guiding light to inspire!
And apply in earthly browns every, Holy Heavenly thought worthy to aspire!
Rhapsody rainbows of intense reverie, words meant to change world’s attire.