There are consequences for my bigness on words.
I must learn how to use them. That part isn’t bad
But to speak them so that folks clearly understand
What my point is is much harder than I had planned.
What I need be more careful of is going mad
By believing that my words are fit for the birds.

Are words meant to be helpful? Sometimes they are used
As a most lethal weapon. They can do much harm.
They often can bring joy and some relief from pain.
When they’re hard to express we release them with strain.
Some have learned how to use them to highlight their charm
And their egos will leave people rightly amused.

When the spirit within me commands me to write
I do not seek a motive. I do as I’m told.
Then the words flow like magic. No effort is there.
Writers block, when it happens, is something most rare
And most frequently I produce stuff of pure gold.
If I think nothing of it I’m filled with delight.