riding the air

where the words come from is inside the heart
the music comes from there and from the mind
the shaping can be tough but not unkind
each phoneme each sharp echo plays a part
in showing artlessness made out of sweated art
though some would say we do not make but find
reality is that we struggle each day half-blind
pretending that our efforts make us smart
yet when the words come we can't stop the flow
they know their purpose know just where to fit
and we're the mediums there to give them voice
no thought is needed they've some place to go
constraint comes on us as soon as we sit
at desk or table we're never given choice