(no subject)
All that seemed natural;
gut instinct or just
plain and simple ease.
The English language, an
escape into a tangle of words.
Littering my life with
poetry and prose.
A tune, a beat, some words;
a song. Music to the ears like
blessed water in a drought.
Lay there still, consumed by nothing but sound.
If that didn't stitch up holes, what
ever else could?
Friendships; consequence of a
smile, a laugh, a kind word -
a shared experience or interest, maybe.
Finding one thing that comes as
naturally as breathing to me. Don't even
have to think, for I just am.
Bound books, a pretty picture or
some capturing text - snatching your attention
without so much of an apology over
it's retreating shoulder. Grabbing your
heart and mind, stealing moments of your time;
still, you love it even as you tell
yourself it would be so callous to refuse it's charm.
Row after
row of characters lined up
parallel and standing to attention; the
organisation a comfort in all the madness life
hands you. An escape hatch. Crisp turning, page
by page, by page. A smile or a tear in return;
it's a solid companion.
All the familiarity weaving
a criss-cross pattern into my heart.
A dot-to-dot of all that means even the slightest amount,
can be categorised although order is a problem:
to prioritise matters of the heart would be doing an incredible injustice indeed.
gut instinct or just
plain and simple ease.
The English language, an
escape into a tangle of words.
Littering my life with
poetry and prose.
A tune, a beat, some words;
a song. Music to the ears like
blessed water in a drought.
Lay there still, consumed by nothing but sound.
If that didn't stitch up holes, what
ever else could?
Friendships; consequence of a
smile, a laugh, a kind word -
a shared experience or interest, maybe.
Finding one thing that comes as
naturally as breathing to me. Don't even
have to think, for I just am.
Bound books, a pretty picture or
some capturing text - snatching your attention
without so much of an apology over
it's retreating shoulder. Grabbing your
heart and mind, stealing moments of your time;
still, you love it even as you tell
yourself it would be so callous to refuse it's charm.
Row after
row of characters lined up
parallel and standing to attention; the
organisation a comfort in all the madness life
hands you. An escape hatch. Crisp turning, page
by page, by page. A smile or a tear in return;
it's a solid companion.
All the familiarity weaving
a criss-cross pattern into my heart.
A dot-to-dot of all that means even the slightest amount,
can be categorised although order is a problem:
to prioritise matters of the heart would be doing an incredible injustice indeed.