Sitting down in the chair
beside my desk, taking a deep breath, staring at the dry teabags, wrapper
remnants of 85% dark chocolate, last night's organic white wine dried in a stem
glass, staring at a passion on the verge of obsession, yes, this is definitely
the desk of a writer. All of my words in a collection, I am saving a place for
the one that states how it all ends. As god was stunned at the blood covering
his palms, so was I, and if I could stash away and rewrite my life story, I
probably would, with the wisdom of silence and absolute of concrete, with the
black and blue of where it hurts mosts.
A large area of dry
dusty earth is always felt beneath my feet, it is the place where wild flowers
push up, filling in for me, the sometimes devoid of life.
My life, the one I keep
adding compost to, watering feverishly, forcing out of the house into early
morning air, where the world is still quiet, where I can feel the damp of dew
on my legs, and hug the sun not yet warming my face, as I escape under a canopy
of branches, yes, the sometimes devoid of, THAT LIFE!
I can tell you with absolute
certainly that every day I wake up, I look for answers. It is only today
that I have come to realize that the answer, the one I have been waiting for,
isn't nearly as important as the question ever was.
One emotion at a time!
One poetic profound verse at a time!
One dry eye at a time!
One singular wet tear at a time!
Life is just that, a layering of language!
A shortened prayer!
An acknowledgment of all that is!
A finish of all that wasn’t!
Life is just that!
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