We are not mystics with observational super powers.
Rather, we are blue collar, ink stained magicians
making something out of nothing our trade
or love-versus-loss statisticians;
rainbows out of numbers lovingly made.
Nobility isn’t a dragon shrew’d mage of age
but a teenager with a pen and a promise
a bleeding out of ruptured dreams on page
spilling feelings not as a novice…
A skilled translator.
Lonely middle aged men. Bored, indecisive wives
scribbling snapshot artists, rockstar wannabe’s
secret lovers ignored, anonymous piecemeal lives
all plying our craft, a creative’s economy.
Be proud, you are a gift that shines mundane
into a patent leather saddle shoe; dancing insight.
In the end we simply suit up and show up
Writers, we. Only common in that we write.