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