Strings of words melt into the space of paper, forming thoughts, decisions, and links of wisdom.
Reflecting on memories, breaking bonds.
Making plans.
Taking chances.
Singing praises.
Celebrating birth and mourning the loss of another twist,
another turn in life.
They zigzag from nowhere in particular.
Then there they are, flat out in front of your face.
Telling the truth be it funny or bitter as a bite of forbidden fruit.
There it is.
Truth.
Springing as daisies, breaking the earth, molding to sentences.
Now, how about completing a thought you hadn’t even realized you were thinking.
Poof! It is there.
Now you have to massage it, pump it, give it heart, a soul.
For upon paper it’s alive.
Breathing, ticking, trembling.
Scattering the leaves of well-wishing dreams.
To the reality of here and now.
Teetering on the balance-beam we all hated to climb up and walk along.
Yet there was always, always someone who did it with grace, did it with style.
Those were the gymnasts.
Now, try to write.
Can you pen a link of madness in a space of five minutes time?
As I have penned this string, yes, string of pearls.
The jewels that ultimately teach of history and past.
Dip the ink to knowledge.
On to six I suppose as the scroll continues on.
Though it hasn’t been easy to find a place, a shelf to fit this madness.
This never-ending desire to write.
To scream in silent secrets of how life wants to be.
Many years of words placed in books no one will ever read.
Yet, hidden within, perhaps an answer to someone’s question.
A solution never to be discovered.
As it lies in silence on a string.
Today my ten-minute silhouette has danced into the end.
