Poetic Trinity (Collaboration with  Timagination543)

Where in the world did they get all the words?  
this inflammation of ink    
that births from the womb    
fat poem babies with more    
wrinkles on their feet than broom straws.    
   
Are their heads somehow bigger under    
all their hair?    
Do they have unique lenses on their eyes,    
allowing them to see the world in different gradients, richer shades?    
Is it something they do?    
or is it something internal they bear?    
Do they breathe different air?    
   
I'll never know, I'll never see, anything    
more than what's in front of me. I'll never    
become that infected or immunized against    
speechlessness.    
   
What was it that broke the delicate    
white shell that hatched their ideas?    
Was it their heartbreak?    
Or the first time they felt devastation    
Or deep sorrow?    
   
Where's that strike that sparks, ignites -    
words of fire of such delight?    
   
What allows them to paint pictures with words rather than brushes,    
creating intangible images that bring life to emotions,    
unfolding before our eyes, with each passing line.    
   
The blank page is the canvas    
The pen, a magical instrument, shifting forms.    
A time machine, prophet, critic, advocate, philosopher...    
Telling stories, presenting hard truths, teaching life lessons, challenging norms, calling for action.    
Encapsulateing beauty and magic,  
giving it back to the world as eloquently wrapped gifts.    
   
But the power flows through the poet’s finger tips.  
So where does the source of this power take root?    
Buried deep in their heart, mind, or soul?    
Perhaps the poet harbors a unique place within  
where all three liase and bond.  
The poetic trinity, a counsel of creativity.    
   
Such poetic jabberjawsi    
that can make every word    
hook the brain    
and find ways to dance or walk the page.    
   
The pen    
   
The blank page    
   
are possibilities for a sage.