When I am a Great Poet

Someday that will be me.

Among the poets and their paint brushes

Among their rhythmic symphonies.

I too will reach into the darkness

And pull on the lose strings

Of that wondrous flying carpet.

I will brush the dust

Off the picture of the woman

Who could be my

Great, great, great

Grandmother.

I too will tap endlessly

The keys of formation

And draw upon the mystery

Of my magic wand.

My tongue will dance

Among the shapes

That make the sounds.

My ears will hear

Soft songs and

Roarous tones

Through my history and hope for tomorrow.

My heart will swell inside my chest

And squeeze dew from my eyes

As I see what I have never seen before

But had always known was there.