Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Birth of a Story.

She sat brooding; alone in a corner.
As the sunlight poured in breaking through a misty morning,
She stretched a hand reaching out for particles of dust,
As they danced to their own rhythm; random to the world.

The warmth from the sun filled her soul,
Bringing with it a message from the universe.
"Go forth..." it said, "you are to spread this word."
"And spread it today. For tomorrow, will bring a new message."

Hurriedly she stood up and ran to her desk;
Like a God she watched down at the desk,
Strewn with books and papers and pens and mugs,
A box of bills sat in the middle, staring back at her.
With anger and frustration, she pushed everything down,
With a smooth sweep of her hand, on to the floor.

A book and pen she picked from the mess,
And sat herself down on the chair.
Ne'er once did she move from the chair;
Ne'er once did she come up for air nor water.
She wrote and wrote until her tired eyes pleaded for light,
As twilight turned to dusk and burdened them.

And so a story was born.
And so a write was born.
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