Saturday, May 30, 2009

Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum. ~Graycie Harmon


Tonight, my computer does not seem to want me to write...
Actually, maybe tonight I do not want to write...

Hmm...
Lazy?
Possibly...
Writer's block?
Perhaps...

One thing is certain,
Writing comes from within,
Pieces of ourselves,
Shared and scattered,
As seed upon an open field.

A nimble note,
Humorous and fleeting,
A flirty little idea.
Left to germinate,
A smile or two.

A melancholy moment,
Heavy and brooding,
A somber thought,
Flung afar,
To purge the soul.

Facts and fictions,
Spun like a web,
Into a story,
Poem,
Or prose.

Drafted and penned,
Cast into the void,
To be caught,
Digested,
Consumed.

Words,
With meaning,
Words,
with feeling,
Words with life...

5 comments:

  1. This is a perfect piece of writing. I'd say you were far from lazy last night. Just gorgeous!

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  2. Isn't it amazing that while you were feeling like there was nothing to write, nothing to share, this piece is just beautiful!
    You have the ability to pull from nothing and present it with southern charm and beauty. What a lovely piece!

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  3. Love it all but the last stanza is fantastic!!

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  4. Thank you guys. You are all so sweet... :)

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  5. Wow, this is beautiful! I just love words, words, words...and this was a lovely arrangement of them...

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