Although we are slaves
To form and structure,
How do I know the shape?
That will make your words blaze?

Maybe your characters whisper
Their secrets wrapped in dreams
As you sleep, making slumber
An incubator of their destinies.

Shouldn't I focus my magnifying glass,
On my own paltry lines?
Hardening them in the editing furnace,
Shined and sharpened ready for the mind.