Good morning folks, How are you all after a spectacular weekend? If it were spectacular. My weekend was, well, it was, so better don’t talk about it. I don’t know why I write anymore. Still I write, many ideas were made in a different time line. So I don’t know if most generate the same passion like it did when I wrote the first drafts. Here is one I pulled out and wrote more to the idea.
You all have a fantastic week ahead.
Song Of A Drowned Bird.
Looking past the light less days I see,
The drowning of a caged bird,
Caught in a web perfectly made,
By minds with menacing machinations.
The mind of the bird none saw,
Golden rods, fruits of sweetness, honey and milk,
Oh’ nothing can drown the true hunger,
The hunger felt by all but understood by none.
Sitting in the cage, no song the bird sang,
Those silent tears none wiped,
Deeper and deeper the feelings crept,
All lost hope and no more care given.
Night less time passed with the howling wind,
Darkness meant nothing as light meaningless flowed,
The mindless bodies in howls like soul less vampires walked,
And thrown the cage into the depths in unkindness.
The material beauty gone beyond recovery,
The menacing crowd fled after the naughtiness,
Oh’ then the wind flown through the branches of the trees so high,
Echoing the tunes the brown bird sang that filled many souls.
Every dawn and dusk new lovers hear,
The tunes the drowned bird sang,
Giving hopes to minds that lost all hopes,
And a feeling of fulfillment to all who thrive in hopes.
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You write because the words are a part of you. They are who you are, are they not?
To separate a writer from his words would be like like stealing the stars from the moonlit sky.
Even though you are frustrated, don’t give up what you love. It is who you are and you should never give that up for anyone regardless.