Creating with Words

Words scored, charred, blackened
To make them more palatable,
Their clear juices released,
Stared at til they sear
With the heat of an expectant glare,
Until they fall in line like disheveled soldiers
With ill-fitting threadbare caps
And crisp salutes.

They do simmer and breathe
Til someone can see in them
A passage through,
And as people rise to the vision,
The words scatter like stalks
Across fertile fields
That won't take them back.