Being who we are Differing brands, similar Objects – perfectly Fit for individuals, Uniquely ourselves Always. Alignments given No promises made, But to live Lovingly, kind, Comfort in loneliness Given appropriate season. Then perhaps There comes a time To set free, let go, Hearts beating Separately distract, Detract from The rhythm of life, Going we realize – We remain open To the opportune Moment that may Arrive unannounced.
I felt this topic applicable and have not posted from my journal recently, so I shared this. While doing my Creativity Project on Chronicles, I entered a handwritten piece almost daily.
I have been having difficulty with handwriting for a while. I recently discovered my vision impacted that because, on a whim, I picked up a set of reading glasses. I wear contacts that are an adequate adjustment, but close work like writing demands a bit more.
Being a bit perfectionistic, I hate to bring anything not up to my standard here.
Prompt: Do something unusual in your creative practice; share it if you dare.
One of my most challenging times of year ends within the next few days, Easter being the culmination of it, and I made it through without a major meltdown. Back on track with handwriting. I cooked from scratch the other night, and it was not all bad. Having a dishwasher. Running water.
Sometimes I wonder why I continue with this, but it is my practice. If I were not doing the Creativity Project, I would not work as hard to produce something viable every day. If you would like to follow the site, see the sidebar for three methods. Communication from you as a reader gives me some clue whether or not I am engaging you in a manner that pleases you.
I hope all of you who celebrate Easter have a blessed one. To those following other paths, may you find hope, joy, and peace in your daily realm.
Every rock feels like a wall Weighted on the edges fit To gloss right over Enjambment holding words, lines Together sentenced inside The poem, river stones Smoothed yet separated like Those who secrets keep Under mounds stacked much Higher than maybe any desire.
Constant, no buyer For the passions readily Acquired under siege Of rolling onslaught, bolder Than before romance tendered.
The song, melodious surrender, Now love, revoke the walls built On forgotten dreams Turn to see what such fascination Means as inspiration – flames – Creativity, freedom inclination, No mystery tearing down Careful barriers Constructed to prohibit feral Growth as if nothing is enough.
Love is no stone though One might throw, causing ripples On the surface, it seems time Is only these shared moments, All other becomes deprivation extreme, A heart can be open Or remain as hard as a stone; The bedrock alone Challenged with an anomalous difference Which may be given and shown, Love is and becomes the soul’s true home.
Roses weep their Jeweled blood Upon deserts of -Complaint- No love we reap With thorns of Doubt, Vicious fear, Pricked hearts Without restraint.
Love may in A flood of tears Wash into seas Of time, Where smiles Decorate Parting years, All things set Aright, As gentle dew Bathes The roses And the sun Kisses Pleasant gardens With fantastic Waves Of delight.
Still, lifeblood is Expended in fields, Roses Come to rest, Creativity becomes The hope to save From rending; Infinite test. We are and are Not Known for inside We lie hidden Weeping Often for what is Forbidden. Love and fear Entwine Become one, the Same, Edges cut, glass Ensnares, Inside alike Yet, the time It takes More impossible To reclaim.