The value of words, the turn of a phrase, the resonating rhythm, the natural flow, the organic combination, the poetic gateway, almost like blood, thoughts spilled on a page, some artists had it, it came without effort, the way wisdom appears, Solomon was trying to explain it, some voices had that verve, it was a case of recognizing it, the difference,, did you listen when you heard it, he was listening.
In the past, in the scriptures of old, the rhyme of the writing, made it sound like song, mixed with teaching, it caught the ear, you listened, 
wasn’t bullying or threatening,
always a way out, never dark or complicated. The gift of the words,
was a talent, and all talent came from God, by virtue the Love passed on, real love not boutique love, the stuff that forces you to listen.
