Wordsmiths

 
In the struggle of words and might
what voice did I have against the
 mighty pen of these wordsmiths
Who wield their words with academic might
and proficiency  that leaves my mind reeling

My small voice amateurish in skill
 pale in comparison
 with such cunning  prowess

Mimicry, my only tool to be heard
Like a parakeet, mimic its master
I mimic the mighty wordsmiths
 
Pen in hand, vision lost
My Spirit yells, it shouts
You have a voice let it out!
 I write the words
 hidden down in my soul
 
A small light, my voice slight
my hopes unsure
 until one read
saying ‘hey, that was good’

I know now within myself
 if there are no reads
the Spirit leads

My voice might be small
My words crude
My pen no might
I’m no ones wordsmiths
But my voice, my words
Are Spirit led
and suites me just right