WRITING

WRITING

Letters fill a page, forming brigades
Serried soldiers, lined in rows,
each bearing a thoughtlet
As he goes.

Under my eyes, marching severely
Knowledge imparted come by dearly.
Behind my eyes my brain retains
A dead man's thoughts, alive again.

Magic it is, writing a word,
Filling a silence yet unheard.
Written down, they are eternal,
Shakespeare lives, is ever vernal.

Discoveries are built upon
By generations yet unborn as
Writings from the deep of time
Touch us simply mind to mind.

A.M.LINNENKOHL