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Literature Text
I dance with you, words,
listen to the soft, seductive singing
you echo in my mind,
teasing me with visions
of battle and love and hope and sorrow,
of places high up on the mountainside,
of clear cool waters,
of stars.
Wrap around me, words,
play your magic through my soul,
and perhaps, we together
might write a poem or two,
children of our meeting.
listen to the soft, seductive singing
you echo in my mind,
teasing me with visions
of battle and love and hope and sorrow,
of places high up on the mountainside,
of clear cool waters,
of stars.
Wrap around me, words,
play your magic through my soul,
and perhaps, we together
might write a poem or two,
children of our meeting.
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A writer lives in some sort of relationship to the words that person uses, whether they think about how they relate or not.
To me, words sing. They flow. In that place, I find my writing space. This is a little poem about it.
To me, words sing. They flow. In that place, I find my writing space. This is a little poem about it.
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Fantastically written.