Words and the Man
The words lie pinned upon the sheet, mistress to his demands,
only brought into the light by his complicit hands.
They may want to wage battle or to stray off and meander,
but they have given power away to a new commander.
The glut of letters marches straight across the written page,
tip-toeing or stomping off in a pent-up rage.
They are but the eggs of thought contained within the shell,
but he knows how to scramble them. He’s learned the method well.
Words may portend the future or they may reflect the past.
He may hide them deep in steerage or fly them from the mast.
And whether it’s a novel, a poem or a song,
With words he weaves a cable to tow us all along.