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Gliding through life
on a magical pen
I return to my daydreams and nightmares
again and again
and record them and time
for me, not for posterity.
And if I do not write for myself
then for whom would it be?
If I wrote to please others
it wouldn't sound like me...
and it'd be simply a reflection
from a fragmented mirror.

I write when my world stops listening.
I write to the child in me,
I write to set her free.
I tell her she's  alright.
I say to her:
"Get out your purple pen, write."

These days my words fast fill up the pages,
some words tinted with the reds of hidden rages.
Some words filled in with the languid lavender hues
of daydreams and imaginings and
the other worlds of how it seems...
and where sometimes I would much rather be.

What if I could compose in my sleep?
The novel words stacked up so deep and
oh, then what poems may come and creep...
like brain-manna or mind-honey
in a technicolor stream.

Tuesday April 24, 2012 All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells   Meloo    Tilt-a-World

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