A Girl Writing; The Pet Goldfinch — Browne, Henriette (1829–1901) -public domain
we
little gods of little words
we think we write
for faceless millions
though it might well be
for no one at all
stuck in our endless autumn
of ink-stained leaves
that fall and fall
on deafened ears
yet still we write
like little gods
creating against all odds
tossing bottles in an endless sea
to wash ashore
on miles of empty beach
little gods of little glory
we write
some to heal
some to just forget
but write we must
for every little word might harbour
that new beginning
that feeble light that shines
in a darkness that does not comprehend
***
With a wink and a nod to John 1:1–5.
I’m sure he comprehends and doesn’t mind.