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It Burns Anew

by James Zealy

I miss the fire that drove the words,
that lead my fingers to grasp the pen,
So it could make clear,
What I could not exactly explain,
I wish, my thoughts just erupted anew,
As spontaneuos as an impulsive kiss,
Thoughts immediately jumping on the page,
As exciting as a first caress,
Yet that is not the what the hands see,
Instead, a stolid memory,
Waiting for the fire to burst,
So that the words flow like a river of tears,
Cascading without thought,
Following a mind that is at peace,
Free to think and feel,
Free to see the light that burns,
To create an image that I paint,
Of dreams felt,
Of fantasies seen,
Let the light be seen again.


07/15/2004

Author's Note: I wrote this sometime ago. As every writer does, I have struggles finding things to say at times. At first the novelty of writing poetry leads to all kinds of ideas to write about. This is about rediscovery of that enthusiasm.

Posted on 07/15/2004
Copyright © 2021 James Zealy

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alison McKenzie on 07/15/04 at 03:40 PM

I love it when it burns anew. :-)

Posted by Ann Krischus on 07/16/04 at 07:45 PM

this is a beautiful piece.

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