Casting Spells

Some Poets' eyes are tired,
With tiny rumpled fields of wrinkles
Nestled all around them.
Some poets' eyes are angry,
Their hard brows press down
With a burning weight.
Some poets' eyes are impassive,
Silvery transparent portals
Into eras gone by.
My eyes are hungry,
Longing to cast spells with words;
To change mind, heart and god.

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