the poet is the mystic, the poet is the seer. the poet is the explorer, the poet is the sailor of the inward ocean. the poet is the alchemist, willing to see gold in the lead of our souls.

the task of the poet is in observation. the poetry is in the way the world is seen; this, too, is the alchemy. each of us are given two philosophers stones, our eyes. the way you see the world is your gift to make gold from lead. your hands, too, are fire — this is the blacksmith’s flame you carry in your palm, you can smelt lead into gold simply from the way your hands shape the world. 

be careful, too: your eyes and your hands can make lead from gold. the regret of every man who goes gentle into that good night is this: where they had gold but saw lead, where they had gold but made lead.

your lead is your gold, your gold is your lead.