With each phrase, with each intention,
I forge the paths of my thoughts,
painting with vibrant colors
the beauty within my soul,
to find purchase in a world of uncertainty,
to hopefully placate the sorrow.
Words like brush strokes apply my visions,
delicate vistas and harsh conditions,
to give reason a plight,
to make suffering a righteous path of growth,
and in hindsight know
that beauty lives within us all, innately.
Words come like a lilting breeze,
often gentle the flow, sometime faster,
and I know how they settle upon my page,
as I rearrange them, imbue their core of meaning,
to embed layers, codes to fathom,
when words collate and in tandem, phrase.
Like watching the dance of light upon a pond, gloaming,
words shimmer in light, and in place consume
grasp a mind and in tune relate,
give credence, align then to sate,
to speak to a soul, deeply yearning knowledge,
and the flow of wisdom that ensues.
I sit and wonder how these words from me
echo so silently, yet resound within,
and an hour after I cannot recognize the work,
as if providence just uttered words for me to speak,
and I then marvel at the outcome,
as if I stood beside and watched that other me write.
Each moment, each thought a gift,
to be able to weave, to uplift thoughts for consideration,
and the beauty that abides my will,
just effortlessly stills the qualms,
when passages of right just appear,
and words flow like water’s run so crystal clear.
Writers are blessed, given a purpose,
and in this art we pursue our dreams of perfection,
never to be reached but in the right direction,
always defining the beauty of life,
of words and emotions, of pain and of strife,
painting our soul on the page.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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