My writing is a ritual

My writing is a ritual, my rhyming is a rhythm
My pen is pointed poignantly to put it in a prism
To split the sacred scattered scrawls and to see the strange inside
This telepathy is telling me it's time to trust the tide

So with worship to the words the wind within the wind
I sacrifice a splinter of my soul to start this sin
I chatter out the chants to achieve a chance ahead
And dare to dive into the depths that drive us all to dread

The ritual it rises and wraps ribbons in a wreath
Capturing the cascade of cacophonies beneath
Don't tamper with the traps it'll tear you now in twain
Believe your brain can best it or it'll be your bane

Dealing with devices that can drive despair and desire
But also allow an author to accept an inner fire
Finalising flames to forge phrases before they've flown
At last your left with a lick of lines that you call your own 

How does the world turn?

How does the world turn?
What causes it to spin?
If we cracked the earth open
Would we find the gears within?

Questions often have answers
And some of them are dull
In a quickly moving life
Don't be afraid to mull

Imagine a society of elves within
That set things in motion below the crust
Opine about a lava powered engine
That produces too much thrust

Your phone will still be there
If you're still curious about what's true
And maybe you actually figured it out!
Or maybe you learn something new

But I tend to find I appreciate the answer more
If I've spent some time on a wrong answer or four
And yes, it can be dull. Or a thing I knew and then forgot
But often I find it worth it, for the joy I feel when it's not

Competition

I want challenge, but not to compete
I want to achieve a fantastic feat
But I don't want to then knock someone else down
To only achieve a smile by giving another a frown

I don't think it's bad to want credit for success
Even if it might be healthy to want it a little less
Like, it's good to feel like I've made things better
I shouldn't then need that written down in a letter

But beyond that, if the victory is always over another
It will separate even a sister and brother
You'll feel good about their fall, not just your rise
And that's a feeling I really despise

Competition can be fun and even good for the health
But it's still something I think I need to watch in myself 

Talk well, and talk long

Talk well, and talk long
Talk in hushed tones, talk in song
But let the conversation flow
Into places you don't always go

Find those souls with which you gel
Who disagree and still wish you well
Those with whom you don't notice time
Enjoy both the ridiculous and sublime

I enjoy these moments with a passion
You can talk about subjects out of fashion
Be open, free, and yet have trust
Until your eyes begin to crust

And, then evening late or even early morn
You part until the next time the talk is born