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.
The words our souls bleed, bandaged every day. For the world would be too quick to judge anything you had to say. It’s a free world, without freedom of expression or thought. And a life that rhymes with irony more often than not.
“She’s just a writer”, scoffed the politician as they stood in front of the courtroom.
An hour later he walked out in handcuffs. It’s a shame he couldn’t appreciate the irony of being sentenced.
Perhaps I will
Be a little out of the ordinary.
Pursue dreams, dreams of changing the world.
Put passion before goals.
Love all of life; as it it is; whole.
They say, a long time ago,
When the world had just begun,
The moon fell for the blazing sun.
Every day she chased him into the light,
For when the night fell, he was hardly in sight.
The way he glided past the skies,
He gave her butterflies.
Hoping she has the courage someday, for now she faded away.
They say this is where inspiration comes to die. Past the dreaded deadline, not a soul has ever made it. One after another they all went into a bottomless pit.. I asked myself, “Dear heart, what about you? Has all this hassle left you down and blue?” Fear not for there is always a choice. Venture out to tread new waters or go over the line another undead carcass. All of life spent in a philosophical stride only to end in literary suicide. Perhaps there is a way, another way. I could be the one to learn the trade and still stay in touch with reality and keep my soul. What if I could actually pull off inventing that role?
They say it’s the most beautiful thing in the world
And that it brings warmth into a heart so cold
The reason why we celebrate
And the only thing that destroys hate
A little guy called cupid carries it around
It’s his job to deliver it safe and sound
It has the power to link two hearts
And when it does, they can’t be broken apart
This is the only weapon to control
All the deadly evils in this world
Out of swords it can make flowers
That is the might of its power
It’s what a mother feels for her child
And a dancer for his shoes.
What a bear has for the wild
And a fish for the blue!
What is thing so marvelous?
That makes our lives so harmonious,
Don’t u know?