A brief entry to something I am writing, short stories of the tales we hardly hear about, plague us, cause us uncertainty, what it means to be human: Wretched souls bearing waste to paradise. Caught in perilous ventures that are filled with their emotions. What ails these frail beings filled with blood and weak bones?
Category: short stories
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.
I’m an artist. Call the press and inform them of a future where we will see the next great. All jokes aside, I am indeed an artist. I pride myself in saying I am an artist and one that constantly is learning and growing in the craft. I’ve been drawing, painting, and writing ever since
The cold night echoed and caught my embrace which was met with a shiver. The air before we seemed to become masked by the air released from my being. Silence never felt so welcoming, though the rustling of the trees brushed through each other. A serenade of the darkness which was dimly seen by the
Vibrant words echoing to catch shimmering eyes. Trace these lines of characters illustrated by a wandering mind. Quivering lips to give sound to such gentle touch with swift strokes. Parting letters from spaces drawn as sentences give sense in prisons bars. Star met. Held in palms. Mystery arising. Life disclosed. Beginning to plot and reach
Escape from these pages O words of sorrow and joy. Memories spun into letters compiled to give meaning to those lost or finding understanding. An author of emotions made to publish my own heart and mind. Thoughts struck by pen or keys to unlock what I’ve met with an empty canvas giving form. The soul
Golden warmth standing ground. Falling into pieces by cold touch. The cool winds bring change in tones. Winter’s arrival as the Fall falls but its return is imminent.