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May 22, 2009
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I write the Labyrinth (trailing lines of ink)
I seek this comfort
I seek this flight
despite no conflict,
it is my right
It’s sweet caressing in the dawning hour
It’s the breaking sunrise and the budding flower
I take my pen
this sturdy friend
It’s the only constant in my life
Least ‘til it ends
I write the labyrinth and it brings me home
Lines of ink that trace my journey through this green and watery dome
I’d come to terms with it
In the solitude
I never dreamed I’d meet some others,
with matching attitude
We place the letters, knowing what will come
And indeed it is the greater
gathered, than the sum
I kiss the hungry pages
Daily from my nib
I feel these words were woven through me
since I burned the crib
I take a wilted moment,
then I feel the lift
And with every word I write
I feel perspective shift
It is a humble offering
Never a demand
I send my love, my grief, my swirling mirth
to find an open hand
And if it reaches you,
soft breath to your soul
Well maybe somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole
That’s why I do it
Least I think maybe
I need to touch into another heart
and set some longing free
It’s my addiction,
and I know it could be worse
But mostly it’s a blessing to embrace the writers curse
I seek this flight
despite no conflict,
it is my right
It’s sweet caressing in the dawning hour
It’s the breaking sunrise and the budding flower
I take my pen
this sturdy friend
It’s the only constant in my life
Least ‘til it ends
I write the labyrinth and it brings me home
Lines of ink that trace my journey through this green and watery dome
I’d come to terms with it
In the solitude
I never dreamed I’d meet some others,
with matching attitude
We place the letters, knowing what will come
And indeed it is the greater
gathered, than the sum
I kiss the hungry pages
Daily from my nib
I feel these words were woven through me
since I burned the crib
I take a wilted moment,
then I feel the lift
And with every word I write
I feel perspective shift
It is a humble offering
Never a demand
I send my love, my grief, my swirling mirth
to find an open hand
And if it reaches you,
soft breath to your soul
Well maybe somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole
That’s why I do it
Least I think maybe
I need to touch into another heart
and set some longing free
It’s my addiction,
and I know it could be worse
But mostly it’s a blessing to embrace the writers curse
— Cloudthings, May 22, 2009
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Critiques
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 2 months ago
Awwwwwww
Cloudthings
17 years 2 months ago
Thank you for the amazing compliment, it means a lot. There are
Geezer
17 years 2 months ago
Lady Luck .......
Nordic cloud
17 years 2 months ago
"somehow we’re connected and a tiny bit more whole"
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
I can see how I have benefitted from this wonderful place on rea
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
Hi lovely Blanka, thank you, I have changed that line a bit now
paparazii
17 years 2 months ago
We poets, there many of us in us
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
And yes, I LOVE writing with pen & paper
iverhyck
17 years 2 months ago
Reply
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
a gentle tune is a lovely way to describe that to me since my li
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
there are some bits I like, cos it's about us... what WE do
Nordic cloud
17 years 1 month ago
Burning the Bhudda
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
me too & back to you as well, you wonderful thing xxx
Ink Dragon
17 years 1 month ago
Hi Anni,
Cloudthings
17 years 1 month ago
fantastic quote, thank you Nina, lovely to see you here, with th
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