Words Poem by Mark Heathcote

Words are divine; they're intermittent manifestations.
Saying the truth is easily spoken but difficult to hear.
Or find—I want to love you; I want to touch you.
We've nothing on this blank page unwritten left to hide.

It's just our comprehension that accepts no mistakes.
Aren't we writers always in meditative states of thought?
Don't we all want never to get writer's block?
Nobody put on my brakes.

So, we require a unique set of skills—like the singer Birdy says.
You keep my secrets; I hope to die.
Promises, swear them to the sky—
So, it requires a set of skills—authoresses and authors.

Words—words are there to make us smile or cry.
Words are divine; they can even be your one true friend.
Their intermittent manifestations are like soothing kisses.
Words—words are divine at saying, Won't you be mine?
Until I reach my end.Until I reach the end of my time.