Numbness Maketh Not the Poet

To write like a master
One must feel intensely
As a bow brought to full draw
String to snap, arrow to fly.
Hit someone's heart and deliver some meaning.

To feel intensely
You must be open to emotion
Drawing out each string of conscience
Moulding it like clay
Into words that sit like rocks in minds and warm in bellies.

I will not attain this mastery
The grandiose weavery of emotive wonderment
The soaring of souls and flighty minds is not my calling.
I am as a dead bird in the snow.
Surrounded by static whiteness with glassy eyes
Body ready to fly but heart not quite ready.