A spark. A flare. New ideas form.
You ponder what they might be worth
Words begin crackling into life.
The die have been cast, and they roll.
Sometimes you’re lucky, and you win.
Sometimes, you need to cut and run.
Overseers observe, perplexed,
but fervor is not diminished.
The parts are assembled upon
the factory floor and reworked.
As lyrics converse in a song.
Gloriously it emerges.
— ~ —
The writing game can make mice of
men. An encounter that looms large.
The mouse grins. Satisfied that he’s
tamed the giant. A poem now
By Sarah ©2019