Write, speak, dance, cry or paint your words to world. They are not stupid, they are not bland, they matter.
They move mountains and blow breezes in the hot dessert, your words speak truth in the lies of the darkness, your words acting as light glittering on a waters edge. They bring me home and wrap me up in a warm blanket.
They quench my thirst in shadows of my own blackouts, drinking them in I consciously find my way again.
Your words are a rest stop on a weary path, a seat in caves taking shelter from the storm, lighting bolts of wonder entering a troubled soul.
Your words are wonderful, they have pulled me through an everlasting journey from a souls point of view.
Humbling words that break gently the branches we keep from the tree called life. I collect your words like fallen leaves in autumn time, crunching them , taking them in one at a time.
Sounds of the words don’t shatter my all, break me movingly into pieces, only find I have always been whole.
