His hand moved
Across the page
Holding the pencil steady
As scribbled serifs and flourishes
Caught the silvery glint
From the two small lamps overhead
As if snatching words
From traveling dreams
He circled and corralled them
With his gaze
From the edge of the table
Through the lines
Creating passageways
By which a reader was transported
Ever drawing out protagonists
And moods
And tragic endings
Paper
Was his canvas.
© Expressions by Christine 11/17/10
This is an exceptional free-verse poetic composition, penned with emotion, devotion, and dedication.
ReplyDeleteLife is hard sometimes, especially when your thoughts are drifting into another dimension that you wrestle with, but longing for change is a natural process, as we easily ponder variants and differences of positivity.
Don't feel a loss, feel again, and incorporate your creative sentiments into those around you.
You know, many people love Jesus, and they love him in body in their mind. I'm not saying become religious, as you already posess a great morality and good values, but share your feelings with others, and feel proud of this.
Open up, and you might find closure!
Sorry to be so philisophical, but I love to spread words of comfort when and where I can.
Thank you. Take wonderful and gentle care. Love love, Andrew. Bye.