Words come easily to me. Or at least they did.
Sonnets would flow from my mouth as a rivulet trickling its sickly sweet liquid diamond along the creek, gently tossing stones to and fro
Lyrics would float along the air about me, my tongue waltzing with the syllables, fox trotting with the lines
It used to be so easy, I used to know everything I used to be so sure
But now
I know nothing yet I feel it all
I have no words with which I can express the way you envelope me
I can't begin to understand it myself, how the very lines which once encompassed my mind are more prevalent than ever before, yet the means to express them, absent, just out of reach
I feel as if I'm grasping at wisps in a wood, following them into an unknown that should frighten me, but comforts me more than anything I've ever known
YOU ARE READING
Down The Road
PoetryMy mind is a complicated place, and I understand it a whole lot better through writing. Here are a few conversations I've had with myself, maybe you'll find it speaks to you too.
