Words
By their adjustment,
I change their drift,
but when I alter their lilt,
I am as transformed by them
as they are by me.
I am inebriated by words.
I reel in their power
as they call my bluff.
They reflect the changes in me
I would otherwise not know.
I can float in their buoyant comfort
or shoot the rapids of emotion.
Words are my river and my raft,
my cushion and that daredevil conveyance
into a new stream of thought
from which I never return
to the exact same world
I left from.
Why Do We Write?
We write to share that part of us that might not otherwise be shared. The page is like a Fibber Magee and Molly closet where we store all those leftover parts of ourselves. Open the page and everything comes spilling out: organized, disorganized, jovial, sad, rational or irrational. Everything gets crammed into the page. We may not be lionized for it. Our words may be stolen and presented as someone else’s, but the important thing is to write them. Words are like a pressure valve, freeing pent-up emotions. They furnish a release that is somehow part of the solution to the problems they describe.
For the W3 65 Prompt: Inspiration (What inspires you to write poetry?) To read other poems written for this prompt, go HERE.
