By J Ann Crowder
I hastily write words—breezy, euphoric, dreamy, perhaps at times chilly and black
They swim from my mind in colors beautiful—blues and reds, sometimes darker shades
All transform into a peticular shape and size like squares, prisms, or triangles—shaping a conformity of creativity and ideas, connecting dots
Betimes my words rain as a soft spring, shimmer warm as a bronzing sun, or snow cold as a frigid glass
Often my words spark and tumult like lightening and thunder, flowing strong as hurricanes
Still, before making such a voluminous brush stoke's magic, my words make a loud clamor of wanton stars for freedom of eloquence in expressive thought stamping open, blank pages
I swing wide doors because I can no longer endure a stutter upon my breath, or such persistent knockings
Thus, I spend a moment hastily writing words, no longer concealing these truths inside
I dedicate this to words and my fellow poets. Written July 14th, 2016.
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