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Scouring thoughts, looking for ideas to be brought forth
As I cognitively grasp abstractions from other domains,just to see what’ll happen in novel approaches of writing.
Heartaches of stone, hitting bottom hard,
throwing them into canyons of wakeful sleep.Knowing someday they will still be etchedin pictures of memories, stone-cold –penetrating thoughts of remembering withshards of tears, tearing the life-blood ofsincerity and lost love from within.
Swallowing pride and stomping on egos of pride, circles
humble in our lives.Striving for perfection and being cut down often byhuman stubborness and sin, we each do the best we canand hope we will be forgiven by God in time.
Banging around, drumming rhythms
and be written into future melodies,felt right from the heart and souland set into pages of music to beplayed instrumentally.
Late at night when everyone is asleep, I sit and write to the sound of Chopin.
Each piece brings different words to match his beautiful notes.The sound of it fills my ears and penetrates my subconscious, settling there to stir thinking in my mind.Thoughts exploding, falling out one after another to fill pages with what his music brings to me.Happily, I sit and write continuously until I feel a need to…
Secreted in a tunnel of natures’ foliage,
Taking steps further into catacombs,falling downward into deep pits of sadnessand grief.Staying still, picturing the emptiness,fulfilled through the loneliness of humannature and left alone to figure out whereto go from here.