The blossoms on the tree,
They don’t need to scream,
They just happily sit there,
Being blossoms.
They all shine out individually; together.
And in their togetherness, they are beautiful,
In their individuality, they are exquisite.
I’ve discovered that my so called ‘writing style’ is to be bombarded with really cool ideas in no particular order, although I can order them later. The story seems to come out through the chaos in my head via tiny cracks that allow seemingly random trickles to escape the mayhem and come into my awareness.
Wow what a convoluted way of saying I get snippets. Random bloody snippets.
Hello Fellow Traveller 🙂
Poetry and art today. Enjoy!
It runs soul deep,
Penetrating through the realms of discord,
Crashing through its barred heart,
And on into the resonant places beyond.