this,

this is the story of Me

 

to All there is a story

to Some there is a tale

Some are told by tongues

Others told by song

still Others speak through games

and Few can tell from dance

movement, noise, and wonder

My tale comes from Myself

 

I am not a dancer

I do not sing with ease

My story isn"t told by tongues

for Mine is tied so tight

I lose at many games I play,

wonder, difficult to grow

so how is it, for Me, You ask,

that I may tell My tale?

simple, My reply may be,

I tell a tale of words

 

not words that come from flicking tongue,

so broad and leaden

and not words expressed by song,

far too light

My words are words of pen and page,

deep and broad and light together.

Others scoff, why write? They say

I write because I can

 

because for me, the words express

all that can't be spoken

for there are things which can't be seen

must be felt and cant be touched

My mind goes so much faster

My tongue cannot keep up

flustering and failing

to tell the tale so stong

but between the pen and paper

My mind becomes so clear

to the many things I can't get out,

with these tools I find release

 

suddently the world is clear

defined and unrefined

written word the only place

where thought and words collide

so many things

once hard to tell

now at once so clear

One doesn't have to try so hard

to make One understood

how many things to tell You!

how much You'll understand?

I can only give so much

that I can love so hard

 

so You ask Me why I write?

You ask Me for this tale?

this,

I whisper,

 

quiet

 

listen,

to the

world

 

The Dancing of Rain

On a Tin Roof

 

Rustling Breezes Through

A Sea of Grass

 

Grumbles of Thunder

Without Rain

 

Crashing Waves On

A Rocky Beach

 

Whisper of Waves On

Quiet Sand

 

Crunches of Feet

On Stones

 

Sofness of a Hand

Through Fur

 

Crunching From

Falling Rock

Petrichor, the Smell of

Dust After Rain

 

Silence of a Sudden

Snowfall

 

Comfort Shared From

Love's Embrace

 

Echoing of a Memory

Long Forgotten