Words

Inventive, creative, and insightful,
Taking an enraptured mind
around, above, and under a sequestered willow
on a windy summer's afternoon.

Higher than the hawk circling above,
The mind fills with the words of inspiration
as would a glass of sweetened iced tea;
ideas reaching farther than the willow's branches.

But that same willow will be burned
with words of destruction, deceit, and discouragement;
Smoke enrapturing the hawk above
A silent roar of that shriveling inspiration

And the forest that once listened now cries,
The refreshing rustle of the willow deadened,
Its heart ceasing to beat the meter
Of the ornate sensations weaved daily.

"Sticks and stones will break my bones,
but words will never hurt me."
The same ignorance that blinded
the nay-sayer's eyes from the arson

Interpreted by the words of this very poem,
But created, invented, and inspired by
All who ever poisoned the mind
Of a sequestered writer with words.