pages of words,
ink........
I have spilled from a wound so deep.
a wicked spell,
I could not control,
Woven from a language I do not know.
Cast upon the vellum.
i fear nothing is real.
That I have words to speak is My miraculous survival!
I am the one ,
carved from the stone.
Cold and shapeless for so long.
chisel, hammer and skilled hands.
Cracks, gashes one after the next
.........................shape taking, molding, taking.
Words spilling from flesh and bone.
chips and dust falling away to become.
Form flowing from the stone,
Words with vision, pain, anguished desires with not a hope.
Pages overflowing
Passions worth knowing............
pages of words,
ink........
I have spilled from a wound so deep.
No comments:
Post a Comment