April 21st is here and a how do you do. thanks for stopping by Surviving and do find a comfy chair.
I have loved to write, pretty much, my whole life. I don’t get it right, I know sometimes I get it wrong, but I know that it fills my mind with wondrous tales, rich with memories, imagination and life. I like all forms of writing, from biographic, to fictional, with a pinch of poetry and non fiction thrown into the mix. I have never been very good with English, and sentence structuring tends to make my head spin with it’s never ending twists and turns. I do love to create word flows that have their own characteristics, be they incorrect or correct. The ways words can run across the page against the wind and slowly take off in flight leaves me breathless, and as I read these textual creations of magnificence, I am in awe of how one letter after another can turn into something that not only stands the test of time, but defines it.
There are so many amazingly wonderful writers out there, and after being introduced to a few of them and learning from them, I believe my passion for writing has grown even more evident.
Words are all we have some days to tell each other how much we care, how far we can go and how often we choose to live this life.
Thanks again for stopping by my blog. I appreciate the support and hope you all have a day filled with just enough words to make it a most memorable one.
Whispers of words echo around cluttered corridors
Catch phrases and metaphors find their purpose under a spinning sun
Meanings defined, they settle quietly along a dusty bookshelf
Carefully collect them all, and safely log them away
Hollow rants and empty rage make their lasting book marks, quick and deep
Relentless torment cuts to the quick with selfish tone
Devious plots slowly attack and rip away the pages of carefully gathered time
Hate and anger lie cleverly hidden, armed with blades of sharpened text
Armies of unforgiving envy ravage a misspelled, barren land
Whirling verbs and advancing adjectives take little blame and accept no prisoners
Plotting their pillage, they strike their targets with deadly, shameless punctuation
Misspelled innocence stands little chance and surrenders, beaten, battered and bruised
Alone, in a secluded chapter, love waits its turn
After patiently plotting a paraphrased path, it slowly makes its move
Carefully selected praise with words of beauty wrap around and tug at wounded hearts
They find their way, their paragraph, their purpose, their home
The darkened lands of dread and pity give way to an ever changing font
True meaning and everlasting purpose slowly rise beyond the eastern margin
A new, peaceful light reaches out as it shapes the sentence structure of another day
Metaphors of love form and take shape, with pure passion and welcomed affection
The page has turned.