I’m just an amateur,
I love to read and write,
From the sweat of the brow,
Is when words take poetic flight.
Let’s not kid ourselves. We may have a knack of grammatical, phonetic vernacular, of being able to shape shift into nomenclature, to transmutate our energy into the current mood, but until we take all that and turn into into the elixir of servitude, we’re just as inanimate as the wooden blocks of a child’s sky scraper. Be it as it may in our imaginations, we’re still children and that’s not really a sky scraper.