It was another gloomy afternoon, as I set to work. Looking hard and deep for just about anything. Any frivolous theory, rhyme or word string. All at once, there it was, the faintest noise. It could have been the mid summer wind, for it had the grace and poise. Midst all the world’s ranting and chanting, I could hear them calling out to me. Out of breath, panting, I hear the words shouting out their plea. All these years of being taut and twisted seems to have left them tormented, being fashioned into ‘witty’ prose or ‘thoughtful’ poetry. Apparently, they dream of a life of ingenuity. They cried out to be relieved after ages of being besieged.
Let new verses trail your tongue and fresh lines be put to paper. Have your literary praises sung and creations left to savour.