All I have are words now words are all I need typed, texted, scribbled out dribbled out of me. Pleading words, asking, begging verbal therapy Waiting on reply, words Words said absently Words poured out in fire through the scribes of centuries Both comfort and question me yet remains to be seen.. Do I have the words or do they possess me?
These a fine poems, Lisa! I am so enjoying reading them – if ‘enjoy’ is the right word. They are more powerful than enjoyment, much deeper and more inspiring. I believe that words to the poet are what colours are to an artist. xxxxxxxx
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Thank you Ann! That is a wonderful and true analogy. I am going to try my hand at short stories and am thinking about how an artist approaches a blank canvas. 🙂 xxx
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