(6/6/2005 10:26:00 PM)
She asked me.
I could see the little smile cross her face.
let her answer that little puzzle.
A flight of letters tumbled from my fingers.
An answer comes to the unasked question.
What are these words and what do they mean?
Feelings that would burn my heart if kept inside,
textures that are meant to be felt?
An Artist paints his canvas and puts it out for the world to see.
Better then to ask why not?
Would you be better had I not shown you what velvet sounds like?
How would this world be if The Phoenix had not arisen from my pen.
A featherless, lifeless world.
No sand or sound is quite the same until you taste the words of it.
I can tell you how you fears talk.
Maybe watch your happiness appear in letters.
It is an art you see.
I can make colour and music with words.
If any one of us can reach out and touch another,
in whatever way we can.
That is art.
I ask again why not?
Go out and do it.
Make a Difference.
(5/21/2005 9:42:00 AM)
I sure as heck can't. I don't even like poetry, but I've written some. Go figure.
Comment of the Day
- She is knocking.
Ever so lightly,
but she is knocking.
I pulled my thumb back
and counted four wrinkles.
Sometimes when I ...