A talent, a gift from above, I treasure it greatly, it is simply beautiful and I enjoy it more fully every day I have it.
It’s an extraordinary feat, and always at my beck and call when I hear music, melodies, nature and images hiding in my mind.
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Looking through windows,
home for nature’s closest friends.Noticing up close, inside lightsreflecting their images to my sight.Keeping track of the lights whilelooking outside, creates a tree filledwith lights, an interesting sight,a novel idea to write about.
Soaring, falling, crashing like never before, hitting the concrete hard with mind in hand.
Conquering death in my mind, using it’s presence to fulfill my purpose of life in a book of poetry, explaining how abuse affects your friends and places them in unknown dangers, because of mental and emotional abuse.Just being with someone who’s been abused and takes it out on others close to them – best friends…
Whiling away moments, writing from inner sanctums, holding closely, ideals from childhood.
Everything, sounds, tones, voices, feelings, visions, images – all photographically placed indelibly forever.Characters portrayed, conversations remembered word for word – never forgotten.Reflections of emotions ever changing, replaying themselves with every thought entering my mind, delicately becoming poetical verses.Lace-like, enfolding every memory with protective compartments, keeping them safe within for all time.
Enduring life and it’s hectic schedules, hoping for
Lifting spirits, elevating your soul with lace-likefingers of hope and prayer.Swirling and floating down paths of renewal, bringinggentle joy and faith to everyone you meet along theway.Although enduring life and it’s hectic schedulessometimes gets in the way.No matter – life stretches with elastic-likecomplicity at every turn – aiding our souls on theirpaths to heaven.
Scott free, scooting along pathways of heartache,
to be kept in necklaces, treasured forever in jewelryboxes.Sacred, taking time to become valuable with everypassing moment.Never lessening, only moving onto plains where theywill be seen by everyone in a poem written quicklyin verse.
Statues of stranded thoughts left hanging in the balance of life with no where to call home, no one to care for them.
Stuck in between books piled high for reading, yet separated from any existence on earth.Left out in the open, unread, unlooked at, kept away from any other particles of life, encased in coffins of bereavement and stashed away in bare closets of empty houses, never to see the amazement and beauty of another mourning dawn.