This morning

This morning I awoke and thought

“How beautiful to be able to

read and write.”

I picked up my pen and wrote,

wrote, and wrote without end.

The words were so dear they

brought tears to my eyes.  Letter after

letter came together without thought.

Like the doves when rice is thrown

their way in the plaza, they react without

burning a brain cell; as such was I.

 

The dew of the

morning gave each letter their protective

coating so as to hold their meaning.

I thought in schools of letters; one after another

made its entrance and stayed behind to cultivate

their patience.  If you could see my thoughts they

would be a constant-moving alphabet shuffling

around to complete the thought stimulations.

I felt humanity in every cell that was me.

This morning, I understood

that writing leads to creating,

and creating leads to being alive,

and being alive is to be in the present

and being in the present is the key

and the key is time

and time is.