The Writer Poem by Marcia Schechinger

I am liquid pouring
translucent waterfalls
threaded strands of silk
everflowing
from mountaintops

I am wind
and sand
curling
blemished
Molds of crystal
grated earth
withstanding
the ocean

I am sight and sound
seen, unmuted
for blind
or deaf
Views of nature
by word of mouth
unsegregated
by nations

I am Shakespeare
Alcott
Aristotle
Whitman
weaving the grass
in infinite
wonderment

I am a writer
by elements
of love, loss, pain
or environment
I am liquid wind
of insightful feelings
or possibilities
Read me
or excuse me
for I am not finite