The Alchemist

If I were an allegorist,
symbolism would prevail.
But I am just an alchemist,
mixing words creates my
tales.

A voracious writer I have
become, greedily capturing the
written word. Where would I
put my thoughts, if I couldn’t
make them heard?

Poems I find do well for me, as
I give my pen dictation. Words
have a chance, ideas birth, I
allow them their gestation.

Each day for me begins anew and
offers endless choices, of what I’ll
put upon the page, as I give my
feelings voices.

I look around wherever I am at the
possibilities I see. Word painting
efforts abound in me, unfolding
mysteriously.

On my love for words I’ll quit my
praise, and speak of them no
further. I’ll still write them down,
without a sound, no more
utterance or murmur.

gret ©