When my words were alive

They would dribble from the skies
like the dew that visits unseen
coiled around a twig of a dream,
they would swing from song to song
of breeze, birds, and streams.

And like rays of a freshly-born sun
they would dart into the arms
of a knowing wait;
and sliding along my bones,
wading through webs & waves of blood
they would cut a road through to me.

Then in some easy swivel of a wand
magic would pour over their pores.
and bathed, burnished and baptized
they'd lash against wilted shores
And soon
the paper would abandon its barren white
and grow stories and songs in its throes..

Words,
when they had the will of my God
found their own life
and breath
without me.

Painting courtesy: cleanfiction.blogspot.com