This Just In

I was mulling over the concept of writing, just now, and a simile sprang to mind. I'm going to improv on it now . . . this is stream-of-consciousness, so bear with me:

Ore
***
most people look at their past experiences
with mixed feelings, maybe wishing
they could somehow wade upstream against Time
and rearrange the geography, but
they're missing the point entirely.
writing poetry
is like this: panning for gold.
that streambed is full of silt and grit, true,
but when sifted finely,
sometimes one finds bits of gold,
and how many men have sold their fortunes
just to buy the property
where that stream runs through?
it's worth the effort to sift my past
exceeding fine, to find that raw poertry ore
that will pass the test of fire . . .
and, now, looking back at my history
i see that God is also sifting me
exceeding fine, to reveal
that within me
that will pass the test of fire.