something has compelled me to pour myself out again in a text box for all to judge at.
my english book sits unread in front of me
pages waiting to be discovered, plots waiting to be unfolded.
words ready to be comprehended, words set to be put to action.
discolored sheets giving clue to aged use, to secrets held and fantasies portrayed.
i wonder if i'll ever make it like that,
ever make a child giggle at rhyming sentences compounding into a silly story,
soothe a worried mother on how to connect with her slipping daughter,
create a relationship between the unbeliever and the imagination left so long in the dust,
tear a teenage apart in the harsh realities of a story that connects all too much with her heart,
allow youth to be let into a soul of a broken old man for the days he missed in the army.
i wonder if i can make that difference..
or i'll just work along the side of my own fiction
words ready to be comprehended, words set to be put to action.
discolored sheets giving clue to aged use, to secrets held and fantasies portrayed.
i wonder if i'll ever make it like that,
ever make a child giggle at rhyming sentences compounding into a silly story,
soothe a worried mother on how to connect with her slipping daughter,
create a relationship between the unbeliever and the imagination left so long in the dust,
tear a teenage apart in the harsh realities of a story that connects all too much with her heart,
allow youth to be let into a soul of a broken old man for the days he missed in the army.
i wonder if i can make that difference..
or i'll just work along the side of my own fiction
1 comment:
"i wonder if i can make that difference.."
believe you me darling, i have the strongest faith in you, and you can and will. you already have for me. <333
peace.
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