As I allowed these troubling thoughts once exiled to the deepest void of my soul back into my mind, a contemplation arose. Life is nothing more than sensory  receptors and imagination. If we can’t see or touch something, that doesn’t mean it can’t exist, this is when imagination translates an improbable mental transcript with ease like this

Have you ever wondered,
Is thunder always so loud because it’s mad lightning has to be so flashy, people dance and cheer for rain  always seeming to steal thunders thunder?

  Just pretend, that the pen which acts as a portal for my thoughts to become mortal, had a voice of its own, like he wanted to scream haikus at the top of his lungs, so he could make his pen cap crush smile. What if he knows that the ink which flows through his veins is his voice that this voice is his driving passion. Bleeding beautiful phrases across an empty canvass, stanzas of joy, praise, peace, hate and pain.

Without this cap his voice will dry up like a droplet of water evaporating in a barren terrain,
leaving a canvass empty,
his haikus fade away down the highway people believe is paved for dreams that never find their way,
the jealousy felt in the sky was never questioned with clenched fist, never would the what if ever exist,
the thunder is loud... because we’re taught, that’s just the way it is...

It was then that I realized this pen allows you to see the outs and inns of my life through your eyes, no longer do I wonder, because my voice will be heard
like the thunder growing more and more confident through every storm.


Imagination, personification, courage

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