My hands move with such a rapid motion that it seems to move on its own. Jumping from device to device, I find myself in constant odds, wondering where it is that I find complete comfort. What device should I use to write, where is the perfect spot, platform, who am I writing about, Why
The piercing light hit my eyes and caused me to cover my face. I woke to the blinding radiance of the sun. After moments of being dazed I looked out at the world. I was regaining my composure. I sat up and looked on as the clouds parted and drifted over the scenery before me.
Cover me in swirls of light or darkness. Bury me in the mystery of possibilities. Faces emerge and breeds a new future of uncertainty. Shaped emotions and thoughts illustrating new reason. The present swirls.
What does it mean to write? Laying down on my bed contemplating what my next words will be? What would entice a reader to stick through these simple words that would impact them? How would I draw an audience to my work? The questions that plague a writer. I find myself attempting to find proper
Search within the mystery. Bursting colors illuminated by darkness. Flickers of rays met with caverns of emotions. Into the deep.
O sweet goddess, you have marked me eternity. Hear my words part and reach tickled ears. Such beauty stretching beyond time and space. Trouble breeding strength and growth into such amazement. Your eyes are the sunset to my dreams. Your voice the melody to my heart. Your touch the calming wing. Catch me in your
Speak to me of days gone and I shall incite memories of yesterday to flourish once more. Speaking measures are taken to reignite thoughts and emotions drawn from distances once forgotten. Lest weary thoughts be a prison. Centuries drawn by passing. The past breeds change of the present.
Echoing thoughts raging from whispering silence swelling within. Nights of darkness met by flickering light. Vision disrupt by blurry noises. The paradox of the senses mixed as life finds meaning touched by empty spirits. Vibrating emotions catching the scent of the agent of nothingness. Tales carry home the tolls of finding life in an empty
What moves people? I’ve been asking myself the question that seems to spark interest in many people. I’ve been thinking about my work as an artist, a writer, to better help reach an audience. You could say I have those people who may indeed have been following me since the beginning and the real question
Tracing the patterns of most what most people would never consider. Though these patterns are far more than organized waves of touch, feelings, or thoughts that have manifested into action, I could see them all clearly. Life. I cannot fully explain what has transpired in my life as of late. I recently had to go