Of writing

Of being able to be the voice

of souls yonder

stuffed with stories

snuffed off life before time

of lives

that live and breathe aches innumerable

living lessons for the discerning

of spirits above and beyond

wandering minstrels of sagas

of joys unexpressed

of small minuscule successes of living

of emotions of every range

of seven worlds and beyond

here and now, thereafter and before

of finding self on the moving screens

story tellers all, master craftsmen

telling tales told and retold yet all new

singing songs sung and forgotten to be sung again anew

to be the conduit of thoughts, wandering the sky

to be the speaker for stars hidden and shining bright

to be a tale spinner

flamboyant of words, sounds

to make sense of it all somehow

that be the dream, the breath of life!

Ps: to magicians of the pen


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