I feel words rising and rising, waiting to burst through. It is then that the rain comes. I feel it, driving through my soul. Lightning creates an illusion of brilliance while the thunder defines my agony . . . my soul, lost within the storm searching for shelter with the stroke of my pen.

Poetry is my inner vision, the character played out a thousand times with each drop.

I can’t imagine a simple mist nor a few pattering raindrops; life is too complicated. Life is love lost, war, politics, burning hatred, global warming, death, and rain.

And I write. I write so that the first breath I try to save is not the last I will ever take. I write so that my voice, my children’s voice, shall remain a part of the very fabric of destiny. With the stroke of my pen, I find the courage to speak.

Words, tangled together as spider’s web, create stories and memories that capture the true essence of each breath we take. The rain shall fall but not first without changing life. Life can become an enduring love, it can be peace, it can be partisanship, it can be a burning desire to help, it can be global change, it can be eternal life, yet it shall forever be rain.

I feel words rising and rising, waiting to burst through.

Diggin' that....

Neat write!

I have sat here and read a few of your pieces today and first of all I would like to say welcome to our home..... and what ever you do keep on writing you have the magic within your words never let the sparkle die. May your ink well never run dry....