and the few survivors who couldn’t
were lined up
along with the civilians
or killed in ways to entertain the soldiers
And dogs were trained to
tear them to shreds
and the ground became black with
their soaked blood
Writing, the essence of life,
Stimulated by events, people
Embedded in a file,
Located deep in the heart,
Poping out furiously
to evacuate it...
The old lady kept coming by
the hospital to assure the medics that it'll be
"He's a true fighter," she said. "I know he'll make it.
He has won the battle with drugs
twice in the past. He'll make it this time as well. I
know it. I feel it. I believe in him."
"Mam," said the doctor. "We found rusty fragments
Oh, writer's block how you confound me.
You've become my greatest enemy.
Thought's buried in my mind,
why is it that you hide?
Words I plead with you to come out,
won't you please let the thoughts sprout?
All the thoughts have fled my head,
everything's already been said,
still I search and try to find
At last I was a fruitful writer, and my new novel was selling well,
Like the stars of a moonlit evening, putting lovers under a spell.
I had ever loved self expression, the power and beauty of words,
Like the beauty of marshmallow clouds, migrating skies in herds.
It all began back in my childhood, when I never left books alone,
As the magic of loved fairytales, whisks children to another zone!
Now that I was making more money, recently I'd bought a home,
I sat and stared for hours
at the nothing that I wrote
today the words just wouldn't come
no I idea would float.
no inspiration took me
no motivation came
all I had to show that day was a blank and empty page
My hands touch the keys as if I’m to play a masterpiece.
And I am.
Just not one you’re used to.
There is no music,
no beautiful harmony,
no flowy concert dresses,
or sheet music on the stand.
There are only words.
My fingers type the things unspoken,
I’m afraid these words are beginning to feel too real,
the commas are forgetting to separate.
I’m afraid my mind is stuck in that place,
far from where I’m going,
close to where I hate.
I’m afraid that I’m becoming the very stories I write to erase.
Cursive is a form of writing
It flows from a to b
Faster than printing alphabet letters
Saving time to set you free
Joining letters into words
A form of expressing one’s thoughts
Documents a perspective
That others may have brought
there was a dog outside and it kept
barking for some reason
Ah yes, it was chained
and the chain was terribly short
and the poor animal was hungry
Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it
No, mother wanted it
because it had been father’s dog,