Words, symbols of thought,
dragged from the heart and soul
to the cold reality of ink, paper and eye.
Many times when I ventured into my soul
I came back with my hands full of words,
like sand, sands of symbols, still warm
from the heat of my soul.
When these grains of words were examined closely,
I found each were minute worlds waiting to be
discovered, expressed or explored.
Each word grain told a story.
Some told of great joy and triumph,
illuminating all who looked upon them.
Others I found to be yet formed and quite unattractive.
Some were of ghastly horrors of untold tragedy
and distruction; emotional accidents filled with
centurys of grief. Each I sought to understand and
gazed at with great calrity and closness.
cool poem, but you spelled destruction wrong. Just a head's up. But I like the thought of this...what would your soul say if it could speak? Hm, I may use that question for the title of my next poem...but I won't steal your ideas! But again, nice poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Are you feeling the feelings of the grains of thought? Dive in! !