Stories–a poem

A poem lingers in the back of my throat; scratching my vocal cords like an angry cat.

When I close my eyes words dart across my lids like alarmed starlings from the cherry tree.

The rhythm of words pulsates through my veins, like the bass from a subwoofer.

I hear the echoes of stories wanting told, wanting an audience, needing out–into the open.

Every cell of my body wants to tell stories; for in stories we live, we learn, we join the past with the future.

The library is too huge, large, enormous, endless, eternal, ethereal, intangible to crasp but the stories must be lived.

Are you in the right book?
What story have you chosen?

There is a reason for fairy tales

for tales we tell again and again
and yet we don’t seem to learn
from these tales of ours

as they repeat over and over and over
again

a different place
a different time
and different characters

sometimes
somewhere
somewhen

some of us
parallel
reenact
the same story

a story that has already been told
a story of pain
a story of hurt pride
a story of too much ego
a story that ultimately ends in regret

yet still
we spin the tale
we walk the path
we repeat the story
to be passed on
by us

to be heard
and forgotten
and repeated

just

in a slightly different version

What’s your story?

I am writing
Or am I?

I am doodling with words
make random pearlstrings of letters

some of which short
others elongadet beyond reasonable recognition

I am drawing
if you close your eyes and listen
colours will swirl and the worlds I created
appear in front of you
like magic

I am writing
–kind of–
I stream my feelings mostly in #303030
onto pastellish background

My words of wisdom imposed
on photos of happier times
before they fade like my memories
amalgamated into the song of a life ongoing

I am writing
to share the happiness, healing, sadness, joy, anger, love, and light
to show you:

In den end we are all one
And you are not alone

Hidden Island in the mist
A Southern Hemisphere Avalon?

The sickle moon is a chalice here
In their heart our stories are all the same

Just slightly tilted
To the right: waning
To the left: waxing

But it is:

The same moon
The same island
The same earth
The same people