Words come as easy as the rain,
Landing on gold and silver tongues,
Finding fissures in the anxious skin,
Traveling along the corridors of the spine,
Speaking in the language of the spirit,
Sinking in the softness of the mind,
Showering the brain with prose,
As wordmen pen their poetic thoughts.
To know a word
Is to have seen a word,
As readers read and find
Millions upon millions,
Suitable for what they need,
As they filter through
And reach the brain,
And pour out on the parchment
As easy as the rain,
As wordmen give
So little of what they know.
As I labor through my writing,
Words are far away from me.
I give everything that I have found.
What is casual conversation
To the wordman is
Hours upon hours of research to me.
That’s not fair, but who is to blame