Hierophant Poem by Liz Annson

Words are floating flitting
Through the convex of my head
Turning statues into sculptures
Turning living into dead

Twisting people into poems
Warping pages into kings
Changing, changing every one of us
Into a new something.

Are you frightened of the future?
Do you dread the dying past?
'Cause I can drag the torture on
I can make it last

Turning springs into fountains
Leaping mutter into sing
Changing changing all of us
Into any everything