More than a dozen prickling words attack my body little by little. Some assault my face, my nose, my lips, my eyes. Several of 'em cut through my head. A few gash my arms and a couple stab my chest. I could feel the piercing pain on my palms, still suffer the sting on my feet. Bit by bit those tiny bullets you shoot at me rip me to pieces.
When I’m in between I feel a weightless breeze cold upon my face as shallow breaths escape. Colors are a blur against the blackness ahead. You reach me still even here lingering – a vague presence while I am slowly slipping away.
You know there is something wrong when you start rooting for the bad guys because at least they have a sense of what they are fighting for their words resonate with the harsh truth that they see but we do not see as we are saturated with lies wrapped up in pretty words and pictures that do not seem to harmonize with what we need they keep feeding us with what they want us to want now we are lost and trapped and groping in the dark Is there a light?
There are a lot of things to think about, to write or sing about There are rules to writing a poem or a story but oftentimes I get lost among all the cacophony Fairies and prairies sound magical together I throw them in the air over my head, without any care Rhymes and times I’d like to consider but they all come out jagged, fractured and rough like a broken mirror or a torn piece of paper A collection of words in a connection forming a most peculiar pattern No, there’s no intention of any But there always emerges an image, a sound, a priceless piece of symphony that the eyes delight in touching and the ears excite in tasting
Overwhelming is the sensation to read and be read. Astounding is the feeling when a reader can journey so far even without departing. Remarkable is the fact that a writer can reach out to so many even with just a few lines. Miraculous is the phenomenon when thoughts and emotions collide and combine, they intertwine, when the reader reads the writer and the writer writes for the reader.
In my solemn solitude silence takes over. Nothing can be heard but the passing of the wind through my hollow head. Then slowly I hear words fluttering near my ears merrily playing around, chasing one another. They whisper teasingly, these restless butterflies. They seem thoroughly eager in seeking for a place to settle at last. But these flighty thoughts are often a tricky catch. And when I come near to finally grasping them, the strong breeze blows by and takes them away.
Escape reality Ignore time Sculpt an alternate world inside your dreary psyche Plummet into a subterranean dimension Beyond this mundane universe Breathe into another existence Tracing the intricate lines of imagination Create life in the crux of your mind – reaching your soul Let it consume you in its pages A vein connects its spine to your heart Emotions seeping from the words and phrases Controlling your consciousness Soaring in heavenly bliss Drowning in passion Plunging in deep sorrow Crippling in pain Swelling in anger Shuddering in fear Letting you yearn for more Be whoever you desire to be Be with the mortals and immortals With creatures and beings of the impossible Wandering aimlessly in your vague fantasy Exist in an endless era Let yourself be oblivious of The past The present Or the future Unmindful of everything ...until you turn the last page.