Beggarly Kingdom

Sometimes I feel as if
I can conjure whole worlds
with the merest of words,
like a wizard with illimitable power,
or a king at whose summons
his subjects hastily gather
to serve,
and at other times I grope
ineptly
like a blind vagrant
for coins spilled from his
beggar’s bowl.
Even now
the words roll away from me,
impoverished as I am
of the rich tributaries of poetry.
Yet,
even when the floodgates open
and alms are offered in
abundance
with gratitude’s cornucopia,
whatever wonders
I manage to conjure
cannot muster the worth of a
hovel
with words alone
and, so, I return to the
mill
to grind my own bread
from a wealth of wispy, unwelcome
dreams.

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