Don’t fret
the rivulet
of not so kind words.
Do forget
the onset
of all needed unheard.
Don’t cry,
let tears run dry,
so you can finally let be.
Do try
to live not die,
so you can finally be free.
Don’t Fret
Ink Dripping Homage
Prepare for my obeisant homage
All written down for you
Words display the respect I relay
Ink swirled in love dancing true
My Market a Barrage of Words
My library is a market of books
A barrage of words
Lifting off the pages
And entering the mind
Not Talent, No.
Pieces of her writing and and words shove me through the page until I am there and have to blink away the vision, shocked that words could grab me so. Not talent, no. But the ability to craft a reader to a writer’s soul.
I actually wrote this about an author whose book I am currently reading. I am not done reading the book yet, but I hope the ending is as beautiful and as grasping as her writing. Let’s give a shoutout to the artists who inspire other artists and keep the magickal flow of passion dancing in us all.
Book I am reading: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab
The Poetess
The musk of her words
Brings tears
like rainfall.
A weeping rain.
Heart caged.
Pulling at the bite.
The poetess.
Destroyer of Content.
The Bringer of the Real.
Keeper of the Imprints of Hearts.
When her words fall,
the world aches.
And there is no thing as a better place or time.
Ink Circulates Magick
The ink circulates words like magick making them visible from my hand. The notebook now full, I lift the tome heavy with ink flowing through it word for word like blood flows through me. The volume recognizes a piece of myself transfered letter by letter. I smile at the magick as I tuck it away.
Regaining Lost Aspects: Mind and Soul 