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?
Count the stars of heaven
Our stories are more than the sand on the shore
Count the stars of heaven 
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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