Mission (Poetry)

I am the the recorder of scraps
written upon scraps —
torn-off paper with a given heartbeat —
a brief life in short bursts
spelling out recycled meaning.

I am not an elevated being
in any book.
I beg and borrow from the past —
rehash old words
and rediscover truths too-long discarded —
lost to sight.

I scavenge for remains —
let instinct throw its torch-beam-light
upon the bones
of childhood’s heroes —
let shadows tell their tales.

I am the archaeologist of unfashionable ideas
dredged from the silted river —
those polished pebbles weigh on every line —
seem dull when dry — I search
among them — sort for signs of treasure.

I’m apprenticed into alchemy — my goal
to turn base words to goblin gold —
invoke the magic terms of office
and create new symbols that define the rôle —
the poet’s craving to somehow
fulfil the mission.