Light shines in my eyes

The flame of inspiration is not well stoked

using digital paper:

No matter how hard or rapidly you swipe

no ember shall shine sizzling

at the edge of your fingertips.

But, a proper tome erected

with cross-hatched cellulose,

is the fuel for a promethean flare.

Infiltrated through the weft of pages,

fibrils like fuses spit radiance

sparking with an author’s desperate intent.

Light shines in my eyes.

Full-freighted with the heft of complex thought

The seemly bones of every artful letter

Are weighted to their inky marrow,

And transit the page steadily, readily,

With the prideful stride of skilled tradesmen.

Dogged as sherpas, torches in hand,

They raise their fiery arms to me.

Light shines in my eyes.

And, when the cover finally lifts

so that I may scent the printed page

I lean forward, eager to sift

and measure concepts that could shift -

or conceits that could change -

my core: the true pyrphoro gift.

Light shines in my eyes.