The pot that made the word

The pot that made the word

The pot that made the word

Steve Anc

To conceal it for many years past,
have struggled with
To sodjourn with the reminiscence
 as my only possession
Cause  the pain  was  untold
To unearth it  I pledg'd not to,
Because is shameful to carry

From childhood hours,
Pen not seen
As others have–haven't
As others could–couldn't
Paper not glanc'd at, as others rend
So passion burried into none
For the source was not train'd to

My joy–could not waken
My sorrow–spake at a higher tune
Words I love–I love alone
Cause no channel to learn
Numbers I hear'd–I cannot count
Alphabets I  hear'd–I cannot read
Cause no slate to display

 In the dawn of ordinary day
On the most stormy life, I was drawn,
In the dept of numbers and alphabets
Written in a slate
The mystery bind me still-

To drink with the privileged
As the fountain from the torrent
As the red cliff from the mountain top
From the  lightning in the sky
Into the pot that made the word

©Steve Anc
Lover of words

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