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Unwritten

The old man slowly poured the smokey golden amber-colored Bourbon into the glass.  He did this every night when he sat in the old wooden desk chair.  It was 3 a.m. and a distant storm was brewing, the thunder rolling and lightning flashes dancing in the sky.  The sound of a Cello came from the ancient vinyl record player, a sweet yet sad sound that was meant to inspire the words he would write.

The glass sat there untouched, and the music failed to inspire.  He opened his worn leather journal hoping that he would find a hidden story there, sadly the words could not find their way through the veil to reveal their hidden meanings.  They stayed quiet with only whispers of stories swirling in his mind, not truly heard and still unwritten.

In desperation, he picked up his Martin D-28 acoustic, a trusted friend that always held a song.  Tonight, while the chords rang with a sound so very sweet the chords would not create a song, no words could find their way to bring a voice to the song. That special time, 3 a.m., had passed and the morning was near.

He left the glass full, the words unwritten, and the song unheard.  Calling his old dog he opened the door and they sat on the porch listening to the rain and the thunder.  The rocking chair, soothing, calming, he closed his eyes and sighed, and the old dog laid by his chair and he too sighed.  He looked down at the dog and said, “it was a good night my old friend,” and the dog wagged his tail on the old wooden planks.

Perhaps there are songs that go unwritten, stories forgotten, and chords not found, but in the end, the silence of the universe is always there if we would only listen you would hear its music.

Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

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