A Fisherman of Words.

They come to me like drunken butterflies

That dance and flash before my eyes

Images, imagined and yet so real

I can reach out and almost feel.

A word, a phrase, a half forgotten line

It may not even be one of mine

Of a half forgotten dream

Or some long abandoned scheme.

A breath that lingers in the air

That no one else can hear

The faintest whisper in my ears

An echo before it disappears.

Leaving no trace 

Of a long forgotten face 

A shimmer on the cosmic surface

Of another time, another place.

Like scattered leaves on the breeze

I struggle to capture and to seize

To gather them, like a kingfisher on the wing

Each one a jewel, a sparkling shiny thing.

And so I must follow, I have no choice

To let them be heard, I must lend to them my voice

To bring them to life even for a little while

To create a memory, a tear, a smile.

A Fisherman of Words is what I have become

A Catcher of Dreams at the setting of the Sun

A Weaver of Tales under the Moon’s soft light

A Dancer of Hope beneath the Stars so bright.

C Denis Murphy 28 February 2022.