Words and rhyme
coursing through my mind
totally sublime.
as life runs on around me
this is my heaven
my round about let it out flow of conscious thought
never ending until my brain is tired out.
You ask whats on my mind:
are you facebook?
do you really care?
Your are limiting my answer by what you want to hear.
But pens don't discriminate
paper accepts any words,
lets them scratch out flow out over otherwise empty space.
here ink blots and misspelling seems okay
and even everything that is normally defective can be put down so
I am liberated from exactly what held me down
my own smothering intoxicating overwhelming confusion.
The world asks why words should be put down,
why let everyone see whats inside the mind,
the inner life, the struggle with strife faced with everything working against
what really matters in heart and mind,
the world encourages drone like bee hive minds
but not for me,
i avoid no taboo,
journaling is sacred and true
requiring only you to be you
without the growing rush of words where would i get the relief?
and there it is, my core, my being
scrawled across the page
never to be forgotten
ink on paper is temporary
but words on the soul will stick
attached for eternity
alive in the ink black veins of me
a writer...