WORDS

                      The words scrawled across a page
                           Letters arranged to form meaning 
                           Arranged into thoughts and feelings
                           Scattered bits and pieces of ones life
                           Remembrances of paths once walked
                           Dreams once dreamed on white clouds
                           Some coming true while yet others died

                           Words, small and large, telling all things
                           Painting beautiful pictures in ones mind
                           Setting imagination free to soar on wings
                           Living wonderful fantasies with eager eyes
                           Once read they become recorded forever
                           To be called back at some reposeful time

                           Words of lessons learned, wisdom passed
                           So others might avoid the pain of teaching
                           Signposts of danger, of paths, of life itself
                           Become spelled out in tiny letters of blood
                           Highlighting those errors taught at high cost
                           Where sacrifices made should not be in vain

                           Words of both loves pain, and loves wonder
                           Arranged in rows so clear, and yet clouded
                           For a hearts selfishness to itself blinds eyes
                           Loves truth written can still be truth ignored
                           While the final meaning lies in interpretation
                           The writers soul lay bare between the lines

                           Words of power, words of intense emotion
                           Of peace, of love, of faith, words of all things
                           They do not spring into life all by themselves
                           Yet they cry with a voice of their very own
                           Demanding to be written, to now be set free
                           They could not be written as the sun not shine

                          Words that must be written, that must be heard
                          If only by the heart, the soul needing to speak them
                          The writer dips his pen into the depths of his heart
                          and watches the joy, or the pain drip into words
                          Tears of love, or tears of loss is the ink he uses
                          In times of the souls torment, or the souls peace
                          It to sheds its life's blood to make the words live

                          Scribbles of ink on a page, yet with a life all their own
                          For the ink is also made of faith and infused with love
                          While the pen is guided by angel whispers in the night

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