Poem

Words are things

  And a small drop of ink

 Falling like dew upon a thought,  

 Produces that which makes thousands,

   Perhaps millions, think.

 -Lord Byron

 

 

Poem

 

Piled thoughts

I kindle daily

With word matches

 

Flares and embers

Rising thereof

Find own marks

 

Glow will dissipate

Darkness in some

Heat warming few

 

In a garden thoughts

Morning mist words

Animate thoughts perkily

 

Ink flows, dancing to tune

Of aligned newborn words

Weaned from thoughts’ womb

 

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