I LOVE TO WRITE

I got a story to write

When I speak it

Something that is so very dear to me

My tongue flips out, skipping and stumbling.

It’s like climbing a mountain, in which any wrong footing can take my beautiful perch to plummet straight below.

Writing keeps me there

It lets me preserve my memories as well as return to them just in case

I left my lunch in a niche.

I can reflect

The light sinks below the horizon giving a last minute golden fair well like a game

It shows a me that even I don’t know, hidden beneath many layers, a sort of twin in another universe

I grasp onto the sediments;

Branches, sticks, roots, some pebbles.

I can make another reality which makes me question

I look at the stones, when I at last am stable I begin to wonder about these pieces of matter so much older. Perhaps they are even wiser simply lacking the mouths and necessary parts to speak what is needed to be said.

Without hands, They are like me,

Following the trail of patterns where ever the wind blows or the water flows I hope to show the tale like so, like a master

like a god

creating a lush and vibrant world,

the energy felt,

a tingly warm feeling in the hands

the characters close enough to touch.