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Literature Text
Words burst from my fingertips like
Licks of fire, burning paper
Where they etch and score their
Meanings with absolute passion.
The faint, illusory scent of make-believe
Smoke surrounds me like a shroud:
An ensorcelled cloak, its hem stitched with a
Magical thread that imbues me with the
Power of words, its fabric dyed
Dark, shimmering with shades of ambition.
I breathe.
Creatures of all forms and ages begin to
Flit across my page with alarming clarity.
Voices - strident and shy, tenacious and meek -
All attempt to make their stories heard:
There are adventures to be spun in
Stimulating hues of royal blue and jade;
Romances to be told in the
Swelling notes of a sweet serenade;
Downfalls to be declared by the knell of
Death as he leads a doleful black parade.
I live.
Day after day, my Muse leads me from
Forest to meadow to coast to city, opening
Portals through which I can glimpse
Alternate realities and different lands altogether,
That I may understand the
Wonders of worlds unknown and make them
Real, forever immortalised on
Deceptively flimsy sheets of paper.
It is my only hope to do each tale justice,
To invest in them what my dreams invest in me.
I write.
Licks of fire, burning paper
Where they etch and score their
Meanings with absolute passion.
The faint, illusory scent of make-believe
Smoke surrounds me like a shroud:
An ensorcelled cloak, its hem stitched with a
Magical thread that imbues me with the
Power of words, its fabric dyed
Dark, shimmering with shades of ambition.
I breathe.
Creatures of all forms and ages begin to
Flit across my page with alarming clarity.
Voices - strident and shy, tenacious and meek -
All attempt to make their stories heard:
There are adventures to be spun in
Stimulating hues of royal blue and jade;
Romances to be told in the
Swelling notes of a sweet serenade;
Downfalls to be declared by the knell of
Death as he leads a doleful black parade.
I live.
Day after day, my Muse leads me from
Forest to meadow to coast to city, opening
Portals through which I can glimpse
Alternate realities and different lands altogether,
That I may understand the
Wonders of worlds unknown and make them
Real, forever immortalised on
Deceptively flimsy sheets of paper.
It is my only hope to do each tale justice,
To invest in them what my dreams invest in me.
I write.
Literature
Love
It's the song on the radio that reminds you of what you had and what you lost.
It's the smile that a baby gives when she is genuinely happy.
It's the sound of a laugh from someone who hasn't laughed in a long, long time.
It's the friend who still remembers you even if you call after fifteen years.
It's the last piece of chocolate saved for you in a box you thought was empty.
It's the gift that is exactly what you needed, when you needed it.
It's the two hour ride across town, just so she can see you before she leaves.
It's the dog who waits for you to come home, just to give you all the affection in the world.
It's the companionship o
Literature
Being a Writer
On Why Being a Writer is Neither Glamorous nor Exciting
If you watch the blogs and various sites around the internet about writing, you've probably seen at least one list that details a few universal truths about writers, but they all pretty much boil down to several actual truths.
All writers write.
All writers procrastinate.
Writers don't actually write, because we spend all our time doing something else.
This probably explains why, in the dark hours of one of the very last days of NaNoWriMo, I'm sitting here writing this, when my NaNo is sitting in another window with a pathetic 31.8k words.
Will I finish by 11:59pm tomorrow? Probabl
Literature
I Am A Writer
I am a deadly murderer
I am a crazy psychopath
I am a gentle ruler
I am a war-driven tyrant
I am a secretive assassin
I am a jealous lover
I am a tortured soul
I am a ruthless god
I am manipulative
I am all-mighty
I am powerful
I am omnipotent
I am murderous
I am loving
I make sweet dreams
I make terrifying nightmares
I make tender moments
I make anguished deaths
I am the one
I am their god
I am a writer.
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EDIT: After reading some of the suggestions given to me in the comments, I decided to replace this deviation with the revised version of the poem. I hope you enjoy it.
When people ask me why I write so much, I struggle to come up with any answer other than, "Because I love it." I'm not as eloquent when I'm speaking as I am when I'm writing, you see. So I wrote this poem, because it explains why I do what I do. I write because it means I can immerse myself in make-believe worlds and not be deemed crazy as a result; I write because it stirs feelings in me that our world just can't; I write because every story needs to be told, even if it isn't real.
I write because I am, quite simply, just a storyteller.
While I have been a writer for the majority of my life, I haven't been writing poetry for as long as some people on here so I'm always looking for ways to improve. How is the flow of this piece? My aim was to break the poem up so that, as much as possible, the more important words would land at the start of the sentence. Have I achieved this? Is the meaning of the piece conveyed strongly enough?
Required critique for #theWrittenRevolution: [link]
© Fineliners
When people ask me why I write so much, I struggle to come up with any answer other than, "Because I love it." I'm not as eloquent when I'm speaking as I am when I'm writing, you see. So I wrote this poem, because it explains why I do what I do. I write because it means I can immerse myself in make-believe worlds and not be deemed crazy as a result; I write because it stirs feelings in me that our world just can't; I write because every story needs to be told, even if it isn't real.
I write because I am, quite simply, just a storyteller.
While I have been a writer for the majority of my life, I haven't been writing poetry for as long as some people on here so I'm always looking for ways to improve. How is the flow of this piece? My aim was to break the poem up so that, as much as possible, the more important words would land at the start of the sentence. Have I achieved this? Is the meaning of the piece conveyed strongly enough?
Required critique for #theWrittenRevolution: [link]
© Fineliners
© 2011 - 2024 Fineliners
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Gorgeous!