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Saturday, December 5, 2015

As if Its Speaking


A writer has more imaginary friends
than a little child ever dreamed.
Every time we pen a word
another one enters the scene.
We can't find better listeners,
confidants, or muses-
Always reigniting our intrigue
when we find it sitting on wet fuses.
It's just so rare for us to find
others who share our liking,
so we connect with our characters
who come alive when we are writing.
We're often loners, flying solo
though that's not really what we'd prefer,
Still our hearts yearn for something eccentric,
poetic... a literature connoisseur.
We love to travel, experience, explore
whenever that is feasible.
But I promise you, writing's our escape
that calms the unappeasable.
Writing is with whom I share my secrets,
and it is my shoulder to cry on.
When all else has left me feeling abandoned,
Writing is what I rely on.
I pour out my heart one phrase at a time
and read it back as if it's speaking
Then I smile and nod my head,
I think that's worth repeating.
While I do dream that one day others
will love to read my thoughts,
until that time approaches me,
I will write without applause.
I do it because I love it,
whether others do or not,
I won't let lack of interest shown
by others make me stop.
See, writing is a dear, dear friend
It's been there through good and bad,
So I will never throw it away
Our relationship is ironclad.
It allows me to be completely me,
without any reservation.
Because of that, I cling to it tight
for my own self preservation.
Writing helps me discover myself
a little more each passing day,
because I don't know what I think at all
until I read what I say.

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