Attempt At Why

Where the words come from
The space that births each piece
Hallowed heart healed soul
Running warm as bold passion,
Cold uncovered Winter lands
The catch of a cough, hard,
Smooth tones of a close melody
Sung by a Spring roused dove,
Careful magic, Handwritten,
Secrets all given nearly away.
Yet, few discern how, what,
Is seen through such window,
As the aquamarine and white
Delicate lace curtains breezing,
Pull revealingly, appealingly
Aside, for puzzlement dominates,
But a writer may invite
With effort, join the reader
Such that minds meet, release
Lofty innovations, wild free thoughts,
So essence transmits, is caught.
However, the life of words
Is tied to a far foreign shore
Where there are difficulties
With innocence of travel
In the trouble of this technical
Ridden, cynically inclined time.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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