Not intended, but where I ended

Where has all the poetry fled,
into the past where the past is dead?
or remembered vague and hazy,
a smoky mirage of what was
not forging into what is of what
could be, bring back questing
originality, parsing not passing
but alas I know little enough on
my own so,

I fling a stone of words
into a well and forge
on with the day.

Return later,
stare at a screen to assemble meaning
some leave you breathless in-breathing
wonder how with a similar vocabulary
I could not do the same?
struggle on because,
I am enraptured
by what is captured in the heart
and core of the written,
bitten by desire
to fire the mind
with the glory of words.